ANNIE   RE  ILLY 


ANNIE  REILLY; 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  AN  IRISH  GIRL  IN  NEW  YORK. 


A    TALE  FOUNDED  ON  FACT. 


TOHN  McELGUN. 


NEW  YORK: 
J.  A.  McGEE,  PUBLISHER,  7  BARCLAY  ST. 


Entered  according:  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

JOHN    McELGUN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  v,.  Congress,  Washington,  D.  C. 


IN    SINCERE    FRIENDSHIP 


THIS      VOLUME      IS      INSCRIBED 


THE   AUTHOR. 


171^001 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
FARRELL  REILLY'S  HOME,  i      .      .        9 

CHAPTER  II. 
INTRODUCES  AN  INTIMATE  FRIEND  OF  ANNIE'S,  .       15 

CHAPTER  III. 
INTRODUCES  A  VERY  HONEST  MAN,      .       ...  90 

CHAPTER  IV. 

SHOWS  SOME  OF  THE  QUALITIES  OF  THIS  VERY 

HONEST  MAN, 28 

CHAPTER  V. 

SOME    MORE  OF    THE  DOINGS   OF  THIS  VERY 

HONEST  MAN 42 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CHARGE  AGAINST  JAMES  O'ROURKE  EX 
PLAINED. — A  VISIT  TO  AN  IRISH  MAGIS 
TRATE,  49 


Contents. 

CHAPTER  VII. 
LEAVING  THE  OLD  HOME .   61 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
LEAVING  THE  OLD  HOME, 68 

CHAPTER  IX. 
TOSSED  ABOUT  ON  THE  WAVES  OF  ADVERSITY,    .       74 

CHAPTER  X. 
"  MY  NATIVE  LAND,  GOOD-NIGHT,"  81 

CHAPTER  XL 

LIVERPOOL     MAN-CATCHERS     AND     LODGING- 
HOUSES,     .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       92 

CHAPTER  XII. 

JAMES  O'ROURKE'S  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK. — 

A  FRAUD  AND  A  FRIEND,         .     " .       .       .112 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

ANNIE'S  VOYAGE.— How  EMIGRANTS  ARE  TREAT 
ED  ON  SHIPBOARD, 122, 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
ANNIE  AT  CASTLE  GARDEN. — How  PASSENGERS 

ARE  TREATED  THERE, 132 


Contents. 

CHAPTER  XV.  ,AG. 

MEETING  OLD  FRIENDS,  AGREEABLE  AND  OTHER 
WISE,  I37 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

FAMES  O'ROURKE'S    EXPERIENCES   IN    A    NEW 

YORK  MENAGERIE, 148 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

ANNIE  FALLS  IN  WITH  A  MOTHER-IN-LAW  AND  A 

TARTAR. — BOTH  TRY  TO  CONVERT  HER,         .      157 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A  MODERN  CLERGYMAN. — REV.  DR.  BRASSMAN'S 

GREAT  ENTERPRISE, 172 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
JAMES    O'ROURKE    AT     THE     OIL-FIELDS.— A 

SKETCH  OF  His  COMPANIONS,         .       .       .      175 

CHAPTER  XX. 

STRANGE  OCCURRENCES  IN  THE  "MANSION." — 
HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A  MOTHER-IN-LAW. — ANNIE 
RECEIVES  A  LETTER  FROM  HOME,  .  .  .  186 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
O'ROURKE'S  FORTUNES  BEGIN  TO  IMPROVE,  .       .      197 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

INTRODUCES  A  FASHIONABLE    IRISH-AMERICAN 

LADY, 203 


Contents. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
KITTY  BRADY  REVISITS  THE  OLD  LAND,  AND  is 

VISITED  BY  THE    FASHIONABLE    IRISH-AMERI 
CAN  LADY, 213 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND 
HER  HUSBAND  IN  IRELAND.— ENTERTAINING 
THE  GUESTS  AT  A  HOTEL. — A  LECTURE  IN 
A  FORGE,  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT,  .  .  .  223 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
ANNIE  AND  TAMES  HAPPV,      .  «j6 


PREFACE. 


ILL  the  sufferings  under  which  the 
Irish  tenant-farmers  have  labored, 
and  still  continue  to  labor,  are  not 
entirely  owing  to  the  bigotry  and  rapacity 
of  their  foreign  and  wealthy  domestic  land 
lords. 

There  is  to-day  another  class  of  land 
owners  in  Ireland  who  are  neither  foreign 
nor  wealthy,  but  who,  by  some  means  or 
other,  have  acquired  sufficient  to  purchase 
a  townland  or  two  which  have  dropped  off 
from  some  decayed  estate,  and  who,  in  order 
to  follow  strictly  the  example  of  their  exalted 
brothers,  generally  excel  them  in  oppression 
and  brutality. 

So  little  has  been  said  or  written  of  this 
class  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  their 
evil.-doings  that  I  deemed  it  quite  in  place 
to  draw  John  G.  Ryan  from  their  number. 


Preface. 

After  all  the  poor  emigrants  have  endured 
in  their  native  land,  it  is  very  distressing  to 
know  the  hardships  and  miseries  that  await 
them,  almost  as  soon  as  they  lose  sight  of 
the  scene  of  the  wrongs  and  cruelties  into 
which  they  have  been  born.  Those  especi 
ally  who  come  to  this  country  by  way  of 
Liverpool,  and  have  endured  the  importunity 
of  the  man-catcher,  and  spent  a  night  in  his 
loathsome  den,  and  afterwards  borne  the 
heartless  insolence  of  the  shipping-office, 
must  surely  enter  on  the  Atlantic  voyage 
burdened  with  far  less  hope  than  they  car 
ried  across  the  Irish  Sea.  The  description  I 
have  endeavored  to  give  of  those  English 
institutions  in  this  volume,  so  far  from  being 
overdrawn,  falls  short  of  what  I  have  actual 
ly  witnessed  myself. 

Notwithstanding  how  often  public  opinion 
has  been  directed  to  the  coarse  treatment  of 
steerage  passengers  by  the  ship  officers,  lit 
tle  or  nothing  has  yet  been  done  towards 
abating  the  evil.  The  fault  may  not  lie  alto 
gether  with  the  ship-owners,  but  certainly 


Preface.  vii 

they  are  guilty  of  criminal  carelessness  in 
selecting  such  men  as  those  to  whose  care 
they  annually  commit  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  lives.  To  observe  the  manner,  actions, 
and  conversation  of  some  of  these  officials, 
a  person  could  not  help  imagining  that 
gross,  vulgar,  brutal  ignorance  was  one  of 
the  qualifications  on  which  they  obtained 
their  appointments. 

Little  better  can  be  said  of  the  worthy 
gentlemen  at  Castle  Garden  to  whose  tender 
care  they  are  given  on  their  arrival  at  New 
York.  The  latter  dignitaries,  however,  have 
one  very  pleasant  advantage  over  the  equal 
ly  mighty  ship  officers  ;  that  is,  they  are 
such  fastidious,  lively,  funny,  laughing  fel 
lows,  and  enjoy  the  sufferings,  fears,  and 
anxiety  of  the  poor  passengers  so  much,  that 
it  is  quite  delightful  to  behold  them  after  the 
philosophic,  stolid,  British  severity  of  the 
others. 

A  great  difficulty  with  which  the  Irish  girl 
in  New  York  has  to  contend,  is  the  fanatical 
bigotry  of  some  of  the  mushroom  employers 


Preface. 

of  the  city;  masters  and  mistresses,  whose 
bright  minds  are  stored  with  such  useful 
knowledge  as  they  derive  from  the  teachings 
of  pious  gentlemen  like  Rev.  Dr.  Brassman 
and  others  of  that  ilk.  Now,  let  me  re 
mark  that  the  mean,  ungenerous  spirit  which 
prompts  such  people  to  take  advantage  of 
the  dependent  station  of  a  Catholic  girl,  to 
insult  and  trample  on  her  most  sacred  feel 
ings,  is  as  far  from  being  American  as 
cowardice  is.  It  is  found  only  amongst  those 
low-bred  creatures  in  whose  existence  not 
one  spark  of  noble  feeling  can  be  found. 
However,  sad  to  say,  such  wretches  are  not 
few,  even  in  free  America  ;  and,  consequent 
ly,  it  devolves  upon  every  intelligent  Irish 
girl  to  study  thoroughly  the  truths  of  her 
religion,  that  she  may  be  able  to  repel  the 
foul  slanders  against  her  creed,  as  Annie 
Reilly  did. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ANNIE  REILLY. 

CHAPTER    I. 

FARRELL   REILLY'S   HOME. 

N  the  brow  of  a  green  sloping  hill  in 
one  of  the  most  pleasant  districts  in 
the  beautiful  province  of  Munster 
once  stood  a  small  whitewashed  cot 
tage,  shaded  by  tall  poplars  and  neatly  trimmed 
whitethorns.  In  front  of  the  cottage  lay  a 
tastefully  arranged  garden,  planted  with  choice 
flowers,  which,  in  the  genial  spring  and  warm 
summer  eve.nings,  filled  the  little  parlor  with  a 
delightful  fragrance.  From  the  garden  a  charm 
ing  view  of  the  surrounding  country  could  be 
obtained :  the  high  blue  mountain  in  the  far 
distance,  towering  up  till  its  top  seemed  lost  in 
the  clouds ;  the  dark  and  green  forest  stretching 
out  from  the  mountain  base,  till  it  fringed  the 
edge  of  the  calm,  majestic  river  which  flowed 
along  ii  quiet  grandeur  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
The  inmates  of  the  cottage,  at  the  time  our  story 


io  Annie  Reilly: 

commences,  were  a  man  considerably  advanced 
in  years,  his  wife,  and  one  son  and  daughter. 
Farrell  Reilly,  for  such  was  the  man's  name, 
rented  the  small  farm  attached  to  the  cottage 
from  a  neighboring  magnate  at  an  exorbitant  rent ; 
but  by  honesty,  perseverance,  and  skilful  man 
agement,  he  never  allowed  himself  to  fall  into  ar 
rears  with  his  landlord,  and,  besides,  contrived  to 
maintain  his  fa'mily  respectably.  To  his  son  and 
daughter  he  gave  as  good  an  education  as  the 
neighboring  school  could  impart.  Mrs.  Reilly, 
who  was  a  devout  woman,  of  great  good  sense, 
carefully  instructed  her  children  in  the  true  prin 
ciples  of  religion,  in  order  that  they  might,  as 
she  often  said,  "  never  wander  from  the  true  path 
when  left  to  their  own  guidance."  It  is,  and  so 
well  it  should  be,  as  we  here  know,  the  great 
object  of  every  Catholic  Irish  mother  who  thinks 
there  is  a  likelihood  of  her  children  coming  to 
America,  or  going  abroad  into  the  world  anywhere, 
to  impress  upon  their  minds  a  thorough  knowledge 
of,  and  deep  reverence  for,  the  teachings  of  God 
and  His  Church.  This  religious  training  in  the 
old  land  is  the  great  reason  why  the  Irish  emi 
grant  girl  so  far  outshines  in  every  virtue  those 
who  come  to  our  shores  from  other  countries. 

When  the  worthy  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Lacy,  satis 
fied   Farrell   Reilly  that   his   son  and  daughter 


Annie  Reilly.  n 

were  as  far  advanced  in  the  rudiments  of  educa 
tion  as  his  own  ability  permitted,  the  father  told 
them  that,  owing  to  his  small  means  and  total 
absence  of  any  prospect  of  bettering  their  worldly 
condition  at  home,  himself  and  their  mother  had 
resolved  on  allowing  them  to  seek  their  fortune 
in  America. 

"  For  in  that  land,  my  children,"  said  he,  "  by 
faithfully  practising  the  lessons  your  mother  and 
I  have  endeavored"  to  teach  you,  you  will  find  for 
yourselves  the  means  we  are  unable  to  supply  you 
with  here.  It  is  very,  very  hard,  my  dear  chil 
dren  " — and  poor  Farrell  covered  his  face  with  his 
rough  hands  to  hide  the  falling  tears — "  to  part 
from  you,  God  knows,  perhaps  never  to  see  you 
again  ;  but  our  prayers  will  be  heard  for  you  as 
well  when  you  are  far  away  as  near." 

Annie,  then  a  handsome  girl  of  sixteen,  with 
long,  dark  hair  and  pensive  blue  eyes,  who  had 
been  standing  by  the  hearth,  her  hands  clasped  be 
fore  her  heart,  went  gently  to  her  father's  side, 
and,  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  said,  while 
she  vainly  tried  to  prevent  her  own  tears  : 

"  Father,  oh  !  do  not  let  us  see  you  cry ;  it 
breaks  my  heart  to  see  you  so  distressed.  Fran 
cis  and  I  have  long  known  "we  would  have  to 
leave  you  and  mother  and  seek  a  distant  home 
one  day.  You  both  have  done  all  you  could  by 


I  a  Annie  Reilly. 

us,  working  hard  to  send  us  to  school,  and  we 
always  pray  to  God  that  he  may  enable  us  to 
repay  you  your  great  trouble  with  us." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Francis,  coming  to  his 
father's  side  also,  "  and  sister  and  I,  knowing 
how  much  you  toiled  to  do  without  our  help 
when  we  could  have  assisted  you,  will  surely, 
with  God's  help  and  your  blessing,  yet  make  a 
happy  home  for  us  all." 

"  God  grant  it,  my  children  !"  said  Farrell,  clasp 
ing  the  hand  of  each  ;  "  but  how  can  I  have  the 
least  doubt  ?"  And  his  face  lighted  up,  and  he 
wiped  the  mist  from  his  eyes.  "You  will  not 
fail.  You  are  both  good,  wise  children,  and  will, 
I  know,  always  continue  so.  Anyway,"  con 
tinued  he,  disengaging  Francis's  hand,  and  softly 
drawing  Annie  to  him,  as  he  sat  down  on  a  low 
chair,  "  it  was  rather  soon  for  me  to  mention  this 
matter  to  you  yet.  I  didn't  intend  doing  so  for 
some  time  to  come,  but  I  felt  strangely  depressed 
this  evening,  and  you  were  both  running  through 
my  mind  so  much  that  I  could  hardly  avoid  act 
ing  as  I  have  done.  We  cannot  part  for  some 
time  yet.  Mr  Lacy  tells  me  that  you  are  both 
as  far  advanced  now  as  he  can  put  you." 

"  Oh  !  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  that,  father," 
said  Annie,  looking  around  joyously  on  her  bro 
ther  who.  with  his  face  toward  them,  rested  his 


Annie  Reilly,  13 

elbow  on  the  old  oak  chest.  "  Francis  and  I 
could  have  told  you  that  a  week  ago,  but  we 
preferred  letting  Mr.  Lacy  do  it,  as  he  promised 
us  he  would." 

"  I  met  him  yesterday  evening,"  said  Farrell, 
"  returning  from  his  usual  walk,  and,  after  bidding 
him  '  Good-evening,'  I  was  about  to  pass  on, 
when  he  placed  his  left  hand  on  his  side,  and 
inserted  the  thumb  of  the  right  in  the  lower 
button-hole  of  his  waistcoat — the  -sign  by  which 
you  can  tell  he  is  prepared  for  a  talk.  I  stopped 
on  the  spot,  and,  after  a  learned  explanation  of  the 
causes  that  produce  heat,  and  smoke,  and  wind, 
he  told  me  there  was  no  necessity  for  either  of 
you  entering  upon  another  quarter,  that  both 
your  educations  were  as  complete — to  use  his 
own  words — '  as  a  full  moon.'  I  thought  I  would 
never  get  home  to  tell  your  mother,  and  I  don't 
think  I  ever  went  to  bed  happier  than  I  did 
last  night.  In  my  joy,  I  did  not  think  that  what 
I  had  heard  from  Mr.  Lacy  would  hasten  our 
separation." 

The  smile  on  the  father's  face  faded  again,  and 
it  was  evident  to  his  children  something  unusual 
was  annoying  him.  Francis  said,  after  a  pause  : 

"  Father,  nothing  has  happened  to  you  since 
last  night,  when  you  were  so  happy  ?  I  wish  you 
would  be  so  to-night." 


14  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Not  a  thing,  then,"  said  Farrell,  rising  and 
going  to  the  window ;  "  and  still  I  would  give  a 
pound  note  to  feel  the  same  as  I  did  last  night 
As  I  said  a  minute  ago,  I  should  not  have  men 
tioned  our  parting  to  you  so  soon.  You  must 
both  now  assist  me  in  every  way,  till  we  have 
enough  to  fit  you  out  respectably.  Till  then, 
we'll  say  no  more  on  the  subject.  Here  is  your 
mother  coming  back  from  the  chapel.  Not  a  word 
of  this  to  her."  And  Farrell  lit  his  pipe,  and 
went  into  the  garden  for  his  evening  smoke. 


CHAPTER  II. 

INTRODUCES  AN   INTIMATE   FRIEND  OF  ANNIE'S. 

1ILES  O'ROURKE  was  a  farmer  in 
pretty  much  the  same  circumstances 
as  Reilly.  Both  farms  lay  close  to 
gether,  and  Reilly  and  O'Rourke  were 
the  best  of  neighbors,  aiding  each  other  in  that 
truly  generous  spirit  which  can  be  met  with  no 
where  outside  of  Ireland.  O'Rourke  was  a  wi 
dower,  his  wife  having  died  some  years  before, 
leaving  one  child,  James,  then  a  bright,  fair- 
haired  little  fellow  of  six  or  seven  summers. 
James  O'Rourke  and  Reilly's  son,  Francis,  were 
about  the  same  age,  and  were  playmates,  very 
much  attached  to  each  other.  When  at  school, 
they  enjoyed  their  sport  and  studied  their  lessons 
apart  from  the  other  children.  Miles  O'Rourke, 
partly  from  the  example  set  him  by  his  neighbor, 
was  also  desirous  his  son  should  have  a  good 
education,  and  was  very  careful  he  should  attend 
every  week  as  regularly  as  young  Reilly.  Annie, 
who  was  about  three  years  younger  than  her 
brother,  at  length  grew  strong  enough  to  be 
carried  to  the  school.  At  first,  young  O'Rourke 


1 6  Annie  Reiily* 

left  the  conducting  of  the  little  girl  to  and  from 
school  to  her  brother,  contenting  himself  with 
carrying  the  two  satchels  and  books,  and  occa 
sionally  lending  Reilly  a  helping  hand  with  his 
little  sister  over  some  narrow  plank  or  brook  by 
the  way. 

A  year  and  more  passed  by  in  this  manner,  till 
at  length  Annie  grew  lively  enough  to  skip  along 
the  way  with  her  two  companions,  and  join  them 
in  their  plays.  So  much  were  they  together,  and  so 
attached  did  they  become,  that  the  neighbors  often 
remarked  how  much  like  one  family  they  seemed. 
If  Francis  happened  to  be  absent,  and  any  of 
the  other  children  offered  any  injury  to  "  little 
Annie,"  as  she  was  fondly  called,  James  O'Rourke 
instantly  became  her  champion  and  defender,  and 
many  a  time  he  hotly  asserted  her  rights  in  the 
division  of  fruits  or  lozenges,  or  her  claim  to  be 
the  winner  of  a  game  at  "  jacks."  Annie,  on  the 
other  hand,  regarded  him  as  a  brother,  and  would 
seek  his  protection  and  advice  almost  the  same  as 
she  would  Franc  is. 

Time  went  by,  strengthening  the  affection  be 
tween  them,  till  at  length  they  found  they  were 
lovers.  This  feeling  came  on  each  gradually, 
steadily,  till  it  ripened  into  full  bloom.  The  day, 
or  week,  or  month  it  became  such  neither  could 
tell  ;  and,  as  they  looked  back  —  if  look  back 


Annie  Reilly.  17 

they  did — it  seemed  they  had  been  so  from  in- 
fancy.  James  had  never  told  Annie  of  his  love 
more  than  by  his  manner  towards  her,  and,  yet 
knew  full  well  she  was  aware  of  it,  and  returned 
it  fully.  Francis,  too,  soon  discovered  their  regard 
for  each  other.  James  would  sing  no  song,  as 
they  sat  on  the  banks  of  the  river  or  sailed  along  its 
smooth  surface  in  his  father's  fishing-boat,  except 
Annie  first  told  him  it  was  her  choice.  He  would 
gather  no  flowers  for  a  nosegay  in  the  garden  or 
on  the  hillside,  except  those  that  Annie  loved  ; 
and  in  the  long  summer  evenings,  when  their 
duties  for  the  day  were  over,  and  he  carried  his 
flute  to  the  hill-top,  Annie  was  compelled  to  call 
for  every  tune  he  played. 

Mr.  Lacy,  though  not  over-clearsighted  in  that 
department  of  knowledge,  at  length  saw  that 
James  O'Rourke's  and  Annie's  regard  for  each 
other  was  something  out  of  the  common  sphere, 
as  he  termed  it  one  day  to  a  neighbor. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  garrulous  schoolmaster, 
"  it  is.  very  delightful  to  a  man  of  my  profession, 
whose  first  duty  it  is  to  study  the  minds  of  my 
young  charge,  and  watch  the  gradual  expansion 
*jf  the  intellect,  to  be  able  to  do  so  thoroughly. 
I  have  seen  boys  acquire  a  regard  for  each  other 
when  at  school  that  they  afterwards  carried  into 
the  world,  till  one  would  actually  lay  down  his 


^ 

1 8  Annie  Reilly. 

life  for  the  other.  When  I  see  this  feeling  in  two 
youths,  I  make  it  a  point  to  always  encourage 
that  feeling,  providing  it  does  not  extend  to 
prompting  in  the  class.  Then,"  continued  he, 
with  emphasis,  "  I  leave  nothing  undone,  at  what 
ever  cost  or  pain,  to  eradicate  that  evil.  I  have 
always,"  and  he  nodded  his  head  sagely,  "  given 
myself,  in  common  with  other  learned  and  wise 
men,  credit  for  my  great  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  The  slightest  iota  gives  me  a  clue.  I 
can  tell  by  the  manner  in  which  a  boy  or  girl 
keeps  his  or  her  hands  clean,  and  his  or  her  hair 
combed,  to  what  degree  he  or  she  may  rise  or  fall 
on  the  platform  of  life.  My  experience  is  so 
long  and  so  varied,"  continued  he,  rubbing  his 
ear,  "  that  I  did  not  believe  there  was  a  crevice 
in  the  heart  of  any  boy  or  girl  I  could  not  ex 
plore  ;  but  I  find  " — this  in  an  injured  way — "  that  I 
have  been  deceived ;  yes,  deceived  badly,  and  by 
a  youthful  pair  who  have  grown  up  under  my 
very  rod  and  eye.  I  allude  to  the  daughter  of 
Farrell  Reilly  and  the  son  of  Miles  O'Rourke. 
That  they  should  be  friendly  to  each  other,  their 
parents  being  such  agreeable  neighbors,  is  in  no 
wise  strange — friendly,  I  mean,  in  the  ordinary 
way.  But  'tis  puzzling,"  and  again  he  rubbed 
his  ear  ;  "  the  friendship  of  those  children  for  each 
other  goes  beyond  my  comprehension.  Both  are 


Annie  Reilly.  19 

very  lively  at  their  tasks,  and  I  often  watch  them 
assisting  each  other  in  their  preparation  ;  but  in 
class,  though  they  stand  side  by  side,  one  will 
never  be  found  prompting  the  other.  I  always 
find  both  understand  the  lessons  exactly  alike, 
and,  if  one  happens  to  be  absent,  the  other  will 
be  like  a  bull  in  a  mist  for  that  day ;  and  I  have 
grown  so  accustomed  to  this  thing  now,  that 
I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  punish  the  de 
linquent,  because  I  know  the  cause  so  well. 
Little  Annie's  brother,  I  find — and  that  deepens 
the  mystery — though  just  as  clever  as  either,  un 
derstands  his  lessons  altogether  differently  from 
them.  The  most  ordinary  person,"  he  went  on,  with 
a  sweep  of  his  arm,  <T  would  expect  the  similarity 
to  exist  between  the  brother  and  sister,  and  not 
between  two  who  have  not  a  drop  of  each  other's 
blood  in  their  veins  ;  but  the  thing  is  just  as  I  say. 
I  have  given  the  matter  a  good  deal  of  considera 
tion,  and  the  only  point  I  can  arrive  at  is  that, 
when  those  young  people  grow  up,  if  they  do  not 
become  one,  I  was  born  and  will  die  an  unquali 
fied  lunatic." 


CHAPTER  III. 

• 

INTRODUCES  A  VERY  HONEST  MAN. 

[HEN  Mrs.  Reilly  entered  the  cottage 
on  her  return  from  the  chapel,  on  the 
evening  her  husband  and  children 
held  the  conversation  related  in  the 
last  chapter,  Annie,  who  ran  to  help  her  mother 
remove  her  shawl,  noticed  how  pale  and  agitated 
she  was.  Armie,  greatly  alarmed  after  the  signs 
of  trouble  in  her  father  a  few  minutes  before, 
asked,  while  her  hands  trembled  with  apprehen 
sion,  and  a  flood  of  tears  came  into  her  eyes  : 

"  Mother,  for  heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Reilly  hesitated  for  a  moment,  her  lips 
quivered,  and  her  look  became  more  ghastly; 
then  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  and 
said  : 

"  Nothing,  I  hope,  child  ;  tell  your  father  to 
come  here  quickly.  I  want  to  speak  to  him  a 
moment.  I  have  something  to  tell  him.  I  should 
not,  if  I  could  have  prevented  it,"  she  added  to 


Annie  Reilly.  21 

herself,  sitting  down  in  the  chair  from  which  her 
husband  had  risen,  "  have  exposed  my  distress  to 
you,  and  anyway  the  alarm  may  be  groundless." 

Annie's  frightened  look  and  manner,  when  she 
ran  to  him,  so  alarmed  Farrell  that  he  dropped 
his  pipe  on  the  garden-wall,  and  rushed  breath 
lessly  into  the  house.  Mrs.  Reilly  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  tottered  against  the  wall  as  she  did  so. 

"  Farrell,"  said  she,  "  we  can  rely  on  Annie's 
good  sense  to  keep  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
from  Francis.  Thank  God  !  the  poor  boy  is  not 
here  now." 

"  Oh !  certainly,  mother,"  said  Annie,  kissing 
her  fervently  ;  "  you  know  I  would  tell  Francis 
nothing  that  would  annoy  him." 

"  Tell  us  quick,  whatever  it  is,"  said  her  hus 
band,  throwing  his  hat  on  the  floor.  "  It  is  some 
thing  dreadful,  I  know,  for  my  heart  is  breaking 
all  day." 

"  Well,  it  is  this,  Farrell,"  said  his  wife  :  "  When 
I  was  leaving  the  chapel-gate  this  evening  to  come 
home,  I  saw  John  Griffin  Ryan,  as  he  calls  him 
self,  just  going  past,  in  company  with  a  tall,  big- 
whiskered,  ill-favored-looking  man.  I  was  draw 
ing  the  hood  of  the  cloak  over  my  face,  for  it 
looked  like  rain,  and  turned  my  head  away ;  for  I 
never  like  speaking  to  Ryan,  he  is  such  a  false 
hearted  hypocrite,  and  carries  such  an  ugly,  deceit 


22  Annie  Reilly. 

ful  leer  on  his  face.  The  corner  of  his  eye  caught 
me,  and  he  said  something  quickly  to  the  other 
man,  and  both  turned  round  and  met  me  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

"  '  A  good-evening  to  you,  Mrs.  Reilly,'  said 
Ryan,  stopping  my  way. 

<;  I  returned  his  salutation  without  raising  my 
head,  and  moved  to  get  past  him. 

"  '  Mrs.  Reilly,'  said  he,  moving  before  me 
again,  and,  as  I  looked  up,  a  broad  grin  covered 
hi.5  big,  pasty  face,  '  this  is  Mr.-Crofton,  our  new 
distinguished  neighbor.  He  is  thinking  of  settling 
permanently  amongst  us,  and  wishes  me  to  make 
him  known  to  some  of  our  best  people  around, 
and  you  are  just  the  first  we  met  since  he  made 
the  request ;  and,  in  truth,  a  splendid  beginning, 
Mr.  Crofton.' 

" '  I  wish  the  gentleman  well,'  said  I,  again 
trying  to  get  past. 

"  '  Mr.  Crofton  is  an,  English  gentleman,  Mrs. 
Reilly,  and  is  a  great  acquisition  to  this  com 
munity,'  said  Ryan.  '  We  must  all  try  and  learn 
something  from  him.' 

"  Though  coming  from  the  house  of  God,  I 
could  not  keep  down  my  anger,  and  I  said  : 

"  '  We  are  not  so  very  backward  in  everything 
here  that  any  man,  even  though  he  is  from  Eng 
land,  can  be  set  up  as  a  model  for  us  to  imitate. 


Annie  Reilly.  23 

We  are  always  anxious  to  learn  anything  profit 
able,  but  not  to  utterly  disregard  the  old  know 
ledge,  as  you  have  seen  fit  to  do,  Mr.  Ryan.' 

"  His  face  reddened  like  an  oven,  and  he  tried 
to  give  one  of  those  vulgar,  loud  laughs  of  his, 
but  was  not  able. 

"' Oh !  you  are  cm  your  sharps  to-day,  Mrs. 
Reilly,'  said  he ;  '  but  I  can  well  afford  to  let  you 
go  on.  Can't  I,  Mr.  Crofton?' 

"  The  other  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  at  me  in 
a  half-stupid,  -idiotic  manner,  with  his  eyes  almost 
closed,  and  his  mouth  open. 

<;  '  I  always  make  it  a  rule  to  be  nice  and  civil, 
even  when  doing  something  very  unpleasant  to 
me,'  said  Ryan.  '  1  always  practise  that,  Mr. 
Crofton,  and  I  find  it  never  fails.  I  introduced 
you  to  a  gentleman  this  evening,  Mrs.  Reilly,  but 
that  is  not  all -my  business.  Tell  your  husband 
to  meet  me  at  my  office  to-morrow  morning  at 
nine  o'clock.' 

"  '  If  you  have  any  business — and  really,  I  don't 
know  how  you  can — with  my  husband,'  said  I, 
'  it  is  just  as  fitting  for  you  to  call  on  him.' 

"  The  same  ugly  smile  came  on  his  face,  and  I 
dashed  away  from  them. 

"  I  felt  so  annoyed,  after  this  strange  inter-view, 
that  I  was  hurrying  along  as  fast  as  I  could,  when 
who  did  I  see  coming  towards  me,  running  along 


24  Annie  Reilly. 

like  a  madman,  but  Miles  O'Rourke.  When  he 
saw  me,  he  hastened  even  quicker ;  and,  as  he 
approached,  I  could  see  he  was  wringing  his  hands, 
and  that  the  heavy  perspiration  was  falling  from 
his  brow. 

"  '  What  is  the  matter,  Miles  ? '  said  I,  when 
he  came  near  enough  to  hear  my  voice.  "  No 
thing  wrong  with  you,  I  hope?' 

"  '  Wrong  with  me  ?  O  God  in  heaven !  we 
are  all  ruined,  beggared,  driven  to  the  poor-house,' 
said  he,  panting  for  breath  ;  '  look  at  this — read 
it.'  And  he  pulled  a  paper  from  his  breast-pocket, 
and  pushed  it  into  my  hand. 

"  Hardly  knowing  what  I  did,  I  glanced  over 
the  paper.  It  was  a  notice  to  quit,  signed  by 
Crofton  and  Ryan.  A  thick  mist  overspread  my 
eyes,  my  limbs  grew  weak,  and  I  would  have 
fallen,  only  the  heart-broken  man  caught  me. 

'"What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this,  Miles?' 
said  I,  when  I  recovered  strength  to  speak. 
'  Why  is  Ryan's  name  to  this?  He  has  nothing 
to  do  with  this  townland.' 

"'O  heaven  help  us!  He  has,'  said  Miles. 
'  I  heard  a  rumor  a  few  days  ago,  but  gave  it  no 
attention,  that  Crofton  and  he  were  seen  to 
gether  about  here,  and  that  Saunderson  was 
about  to  sell  them  this  townland.  I  thought 
'twas  only  idle  talk  ;  but,  to  our  grief,  the  thing 


Annie  Reilly.  25 

is  done  now.  I  am  going  to  Ryan  to  ask  an  ex 
planation  ;  and,  if  he  is  determined  to  ruin  us,  he 
will  drive  me  to  do  something  desperate.' 

"  I  begged  of  him  to  come  back,  and  consult 
with  you  ;  but  he  answered,  '  No  use,  Mrs.  Reilly; 
what  can  we  do  for  each  other  now  ? '  and  walked 
swiftly  on  towards  the  town." 

Farrell,  who,  during  this  story,  had  been  pacing 
up  and  down  the  floor,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  back,  stopped  suddenly,  and,  turning  to  his 
wife  and  daughter,  said,  "  What  Miles  told  you  is 
true.  We  are  ruined.  That  low,  mean,  sneaking 
turncoat,  that  he  may  win  favor  with  this  Eng 
lishman  and  with  the  other  bigots  around,  will 
not  leave  one  Catholic  family  on  the  land.  You 
know  'tis  the  only  way  he  has  got  to  obtain  even 
a  nod  from  them  ;  for,  bad  as  they  are  themselves, 
they  despise  him,  because  they  know  the  con 
temptible,  crawling  hound  he  is." 

"  O  heavens !  no,  Farrell/  said  Mrs.  Reilly, 
"  it  cannot  be  ;  it  will  never  come  to  that  with  us, 
that  he  will  drive  us  from  our  old  home.  God  is 
good  and  merciful ;  nothing  so  bad  as  that  can 
happen.  It  is  a  way  he  has  taken  to  let  us  know 
we  are  in  his  power." 

'  Ah  !  no,"  said  Farrell ;  "  I  wonder  at  you,  who 
know  Ryan  so  well,  to  talk  in  that  way.  Is  there 
anything  too  bad  or  too  mean  for  him  to  attempt  ? 


26  Annie  Reilly. 

— a  man  who  allowed  his  own  father  to  black  the 
parson's  boots,  and,  when  he  grew  too  old  for  that, 
permitted  him  to  be  taken  to  the  work-house, 
where  he  was  starved  to  death  and  buried  in  a 
pauper's  grave.  Yes,  buried  in  a  pauper's  grave  ; 
and  Ryart  himself  that  day  spent  hundreds  of 
pounds  purchasing  pork  for  the  Liverpool  mar 
ket." 

"  Oh  !  may  the  Virgin  Mary  protect  us  from 
the  power 'of  such  a  man  !  "  said  Annie,  falling  on 
her  knees  beside  her  mother,  who  had  knelt  down 
to  beseech  Heaven  to  avert  the  dreadful  impend 
ing  catastrophe. 

Farrell  said  nothing  to  interrupt  their  prayers, 
but  stood,  with  God  knows  what  anguish  of  heart, 
looking  out  on  the  beautiful  valley  below,  on 
which  the  rich  dew  was  falling  plentifully.  The 
corn-crake's  loud  call  from  the  meadows  of  tall 
grass,  the  sweet  notes  of  the  nightingale,  the 
deep  bark  of  the  faithful  watch-dog,  all  the  plea 
sures  of  the  summer  evening  which  he,  till  that 
night,  enjoyed  so  much,  only  added  to  his  load  of 
sorrow  now,  by  reminding  him  they  were  scenes  he 
could  not  much  longer  enjoy.  The  tall  white  and 
red  rose-trees,  now  in  full  bloom,  peeped  sweetly 
over  the  garden  wall,  or  in  at  the  little  parlor 
window,  as  if  to  softly  whisper  words  of  consola 
tion  and  peace.  Farrell  leaned  against  the  door- 


Annie  Reilly.  27 

post  for  some  minutes,  then  raised  his  eyes,  and, 
gla.icing  around  on  the  beautiful  scene,  smote  his 
forehead,  and  re-entered  the  cottage.  Mrs.  Reilly 
and  Annie  had  just  risen  from  their  knees,  and 
began  to  offer  all  the  consolation  in  their  power 
to  the  distressed  man. 

"  Now,  Farrell,"  said  Mrs.  Reilly,  "  we  are  not 
certain  yet  that  any  such  step  as  we  dread  has 
been  taken  against  us.  Remember,  we  have  not 
been  notified  as  Miles  has.  In  the  name  of  God, 
do  you  prepare  in  the  morning,  and  go  and  see 
Ryan.  What  he  wants  to  see  you  about  may  be 
to  make  some  satisfactory  arrangement  with  you. 
If  he  intended  putting  us  out,  he  would  not,  I 
am  sure,  send  for  you.  We  will  place  all  our 
hope  in  God,  and  not  give  ourselves  up  to  grief 
and  despair ;  'tis  time  enough  to  deal  with  misery 
when  it  comes,  and  not  invite  it." 

Farrell  shook  his  head,  and,  resting  his  chin  on 
his  hands,  sat  silently  till  Francis  came  back  from 
leaving  the  cattle  at  their  accustomed  resting- 
place,  when,  after  a  fervent  evening  prayer,  thev 
retired  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SHOWS  SOME  OF  THE  QUALITIES  OF  THIS  VERY 

HONEST   MAN. 

fOHN  GRIFFIN  RYAN,  "  Pig-Jobber 
and  Hog-Slaughterer,"  as  the  wide, 
dirty  sign  over  his  shop-door,  in  one 
of  the  back  streets  of  the  town,  pro 
claimed  to  all  who  run  and  read,  combined  so 
many  qualities  in  one  body  that  our  readers  must 
learn  a  little  more  about  him  than  they  may  be 
able  to  glean  from  the  remarks  of  Farrell  Reilly 
and  Miles  O'Rourke.  As  to  the  extremities  of 
his  name,  very  little  need  be  said,  "  John  "  and 
"Ryan"  being  very  common  and  very  familiar 
names  ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  look  very  well,  and  get  along  very  agreeably 
when  put  together.  Many  a  less  important  man 
than  our  subject  thrives  very  well  with  a  far  worse 
name.  But  why  this  extraordinary  man  chose  to 
put  those  nicely-fitting  names  apart  by  inserting 
another  between  them  requires  some  little  inves 
tigation.  That  John  G.  Ryan  was  a  thorough 
man  of  the  world,  his  worst  enemies  never  dare 
deny.  John  boaste**d  of  the  quality  at  le~st 


Annie  Reitly.  29 

twenty-five  times  every  day,  and  no  man  had  the 
hardihood  to  contradict  him.  John  never  said  he 
was  simply  a  man  of  the  world — oh  !  no.  He  was 
a  literary  man  besides;  but  he  never  chose  to  cul 
tivate  that  quality.  He  possessed  it  ;  the  mine  was 
there,  he  knew,  but  he  kept  it  secure  from  the  vulgar 
gaze,  without  parade,  further  than  to  strike  himself 
on  the  breast,  and  say,  "  The  blood  of  Gerald  Griffin 
flows  there  "  ;  but  more  calm  and  majestic  than 
in  the  veins  of  the  great  poet  himself.  Yes,  Ryan 
claimed  to  be  a  relative  of  Gerald  Griffin's.  How 
or  in  what  manner,  when  pressed  for  an  explana 
tion,  he  knew  not.  He  lived  at  a  safe  distance 
from  those  who  knew  the  poet's  family,  and, 
shrewd  man  as  he  was,  always  took  care  to  avoid 
the  subject  when  business  led  him  to  that  part  of 
the  province. 

Well,  being  a  blood  relation  of  Griffin's,  John 
Ryan  condescended  to  acknowledge  the  former 
so  far  as  to  give  room  for  his  name  between  his 
own — took  him  to  his  very  heart,  as  it  were,  and 
signed  himself  in  very  fat  letters,  when  he  learn 
ed  how,  "John  Griffin  Ryan." 

Ryan  was  a  great  philosopher.  No  man,  living 
or  dead,  knew  better  than  he  how  people  should 
conduct  themselves  in  adversity.  He  could  lean 
back  in  his  greasy  arm-chair,  his  fat  face  showing 
every  sign  of  entire  satisfaction,  and  lecture  a 


3O  Annie  Reilly. 

poor  cripple,  or  paralyzed  beggar,  for  fully  two 
hours,  on  how  they  should  bear  up  against  their 
trials ;  and  in  the  end,  as  if  to  see  the  fruit  his 
advice  bore,  dismiss  them  without  a  half-penny. 
Ryan  was  a  very  great  knave. 

We  have  it  on  no  meaft  authority  that  his  rea 
son  for  changing  his  creed  was,  that  he  might 
obtain  the  contracts  for  supplying  pork  to  the 
military  barrack.  This  little  trick  he  could  not 
conceal  from  his  neighbors ;  but  whenever  he 
went  abroad  to  any  of  the  neighboring  fairs,  he 
always  carried  a  pair  of  beads  in  his  pockets,  and 
always  took  care  to  display  them  as  if  by  mistake, 
when  making  a  bargain. 

If  the  town  or  village  happened  to  contain  a 
chapel,  Ryan  was  sure  to  be  seen  at  Mass  on  the 
fair  morning,  and  always  walked  from  the  chapel 
into  the  street  bare-headed,  while  his  flat  gray 
eye  glanced  nervously  up  and  down,  lest  some 
member  of  his  new  creed  should  see  him.  This 
happened  once;  but  Ryan's  ready  wit  quickly  re 
lieved  him  of  all  suspicion. 

The  minister,  whose  church  Ryan  attended 
when  in  his  native  town,  happened  to  be  driving 
past  and  saw  him,  hat  in  hand,  leaving  the  cha 
pel.  The  minister  pulled  up  his  horse  instantly, 
while  a  tide  of  holy  horror  mounted  up  his  throat 
from  his  very  heart,  which  was  a  considerable  dis- 


Annie  Reitly.  3* 

tance.  "Ryan  s  horror  was  not  much  less,  though 
of  a  different  kind.  He  bowed  low  to  the  minis 
ter — so  low  that  the  crown  of  the  hat  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  road, 
and  received  a  very  ugly  dinge.  But  Ryan  heeded 
this  not.  He  sprang  to  the  side  of  his  worthy 
adviser's  car,  drew  his  cuff  excitedly  across  his 
brow,  and  said : 

"  O  Mr.  Scollop !  your  reverence,  I  have  been 
horrified  to-day.  The  thing  is  going  too  far; 
they  are  actually  planning  the  foundation  of  a 
new  popish  chapel  here.  I  heard  so  when  I  came 
here  to-day,  but  could  not  believe  it  till  I  have 
satisfied  myself  by  going  in  there  just  now.  It 
makes  my  blood  boil,  Mr.  Scollop."  And  he  shook 
the  hat  downwards,  as  if  it  contained  some  of  the 
hot  liquid,  and  drew  his  cuff  again  across  his  face. 

The  tide  of  holy  horror  at  this  information  was 
beating  around  the  worthy  parson's  ears ;  but 
Ryan's  fervor  caused  it  to  ebb,  and,  after  a  firm 
grip  of  the  hand,  he  drove  away.  Ryan  turned 
away,  tdb,  and  joined  a  crowd  of  farmers  who 
were  looking  on  at  the  scene,  and  probably  told 
them  he  was  threatening  to  assault  the  parson. 

Ryan  was  gifted  with  an  Indian  Ocean-ful  of 
family  pride.  Although  just  as  convenient  to 
him  as  Parson  Scollop's  church,  his  dignity  would 
never  allow  him  to  go  to  the  church  of  the  parson 


32  Annie  Reilly. 

whose  boots  his  venerable  father  was  said  to  black 
en.  Now,  we  hold  there  is  nothing  at  all  discred 
itable  in  blacking  boots.  Many  of  our  own  boot 
blacks  here  have  grown  up  to  be  wealthy  and 
respectable  citizens,  and  would  never  blush  to 
confess  they  earned  an  honest  penny  with  the 
brush.  Ryan  being  a  philosopher,  as  we  trust  we 
have  established,  it  is  hard  to  say  how  he  would 
have  felt  had  his  father  followed  the  blacking  art 
in  his  rising  years.  He  would,  we  venture  to 
hope,  have  borne  it  with  stoical  fortitude.  But  in 
his  early  days,  the  man  to  whom  the  world  is 
indebted  for  Ryan  sported  the  gorgeous  livery  of 
a  country  gentleman's  coachman  ;  or,  as  the  case 
most  likely  happened  to  be,  a  country  gentle 
man's  carman.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than 
that  he  occupied  one  or  the  other  of  those  daz 
zling  positions ;  for  numerous  old  men  and  women, 
who  distinctly  remembered  that  day,  could  tes 
tify  they  saw  him  with  the  lace  hat  on,  but  would 
not  commit  themselves  by  declaring  they  saw  the 
lace  coat ;  so  that  whether  he  wore  the  latter 
distinguishing  garment  or  not  must  be  left  to 
conjecture.  The  old  gentleman  had  fallen  in  the 
world — a  thing  his  son  could  not  tolerate  in  any 
man,  much  less  in  his  own  father ;  but  he  called 
the  family  pride  to  his  aid,  and  knew  him  no 
more 


Annie  Reilly.  33 

Ryan  was  a  very  great  hypocrite.  We  do  not 
use  the  term  in  an  offensive  sense,  but  merely  as 
one  of  his  manifold  traits.  There  are  many  hypo 
crites  to  be  met  with  in  every  part  of  the  world 
so  closely  resembling  one  another  that  a  de 
scription  of  one  would  serve  for  all.  But  Ryan 
possessed  all  his  qualities  in  an  eminent  degree ; 
each  shone  out  brilliantly.  Ryan  could  commit 
the  most  base  and  grievous  wrong  on  any  of  his 
fellow-men,  and  at  the  same  time  shed  tears  in 
the  fulness  of  his  heart  over  .that  man's  sufferings  ; 
and  declare,  while  his  voice  grew  husky  with  emo 
tion,  and  his  arms  swept  the  air  in  a  paroxysm 
of  Christian  charity,  that  he  could  lay  down  his 
life  for  that  man.  Any  one  who  had  not  the 
pleasure  of  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  him, 
and  saw  him  while  he  planned  the  ruin  of  a 
neighbor,  could  not  help  thinking,  or,  if  he  were 
excitable,  exclaiming:  "Behold  him!  there  is  a 
true  friend  to  all  mankind." 

Ryan  was  a  liar,  a  great  liar,  a  skilful,  cunning, 
systematic  liar.  When  a  stranger  entered  his 
employment,  and  Ryan  saw  a  likelihood  of  his 
proving  useful,  he  would,  before  the  second  day 
passed  by,  promise  the  fortunate  adventurer  a 
share  in  the  business  ;  but  always  prefaced  this 
offer  by  giving  it  as  his  advice  that  he  had 
better,  in  the  meantime,  work  for  little  01 


34  Annie  "Reilly. 

nothing;  and,  as  few  could  be  found  to  with 
stand  this  "luring  temptation,  many  did  take 
Ryan's  advice.  Time  would  pass  on,  and 
the  day  for  taking  in  the  new  partner,  who 
probably  by  this  time  would  have  reached  an  ad 
vanced  stage  of  starvation,  would  come.  At  no 
period  of  his  life  would  Ryan  look  so  innocent,  so 
childlike,  and  so  oblivious  of  earthly  things  as  on 
that  day.  His  thoughts  were  no  longer  of  earth  ; 
they  had  penetrated  the  clouds,  and  clustered 
around  the  throne  of  the  Deity.  Ryan— bless 
him  ! — would  take  off  his  hat  and  coat,  and,  sitting 
down  in  his  chair,  let  his  head  fall  sadly  on  his 
hand,  dilate  in  soft,  low  murmurs  on  the  short 
ness  of  life  here  below,  on  the  length  of  eternity, 
and  how  little  we  should  care  for  this  world's 
"vile  dross."  "When  the  hungry  expectant,  who 
probably  rose  by  daybreak,  hardly  condescending 
to  notice  such  of  his  acquaintances  as  might  be 
abroad  at  that  hour,  so  much  did  his  dignity  rise 
at  the  prospect  of  being  John  G.Ryan's  partner, 
would,  seeing  John  so  absorbed  in  heavenly 
things,  venture  to  remind  him  of  his  promise, 
Ryan  would  gently  tell  him  to  leave  him  to  his 
meditation  that  day.  Of  course,  the  following 
day  the  subject  would  be  again  brought  under 
Ryan's  notice.  His  astonishment  was  unbounded. 
He  never  heard  of  such  a  thing;  did  ho  employ  ? 


Annie  Reilly.  35 

madman  ?  When  or  where  did  he  make  -such  a 
promise  ?  Where  was  the  witness  ?  His  indig 
nation  rose,  till  he  ejected  the  deceived  wretch 
from  the  place,  with  the  comforting  advice  to  se 
cure  his  bondsmen,  as  he,  John,  intended  having 
him  arrested  for  robbery,  or  larceny,  or  some  other 
disgraceful  offence.  Some  minor  intellects  say 
it  is  only  needful  to  tell  the  truth  when  a  lie  will 
not  suit.  But  Ryan  was  no  compromiser.  He 
never  saw  the  necessity  of  telling  the  truth  in  any 
of  his  transactions,  and  he  throve  on  that  deter 
mination.  Well,  there  is  a  prince  in  every  trade. 
We  will  not  call  Ryan  a  swindler.  No.  The  ex 
ample  he  made  of  an  intended  partner,  who 
modestly  ventured  to  add  that  quality  to  the 
chain,  deters  us. 

Ryan  was  sitting  in  his  office,  elaborately  com 
menting  on  the  bright  world  opened  up  before  a 
young  man  who  stood  before  him,  and  whom  ho 
had  entrapped  the  day  previous,  when  Farrell 
Reilly  and  Miles  O'Rourke  entered  the  establish 
ment.  He  had  merely  time  to  dismiss  the  young 
man  with  "  God  bless  you  !  "  when  the  two  men 
came  into  the  office.  Ryan  rose  and  extended 
his  hand  to  Reilly,  while  he  said,  with  the  accus 
tomed  leer,  "  Farrell,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  , 
there  is  nothing  one  man  could  do  for  another 
I  would  not  do  for  you.  Take  a  seat,  sir." 


36  Annie  Reilly. 

Miles  stood  by  the  office  door,  but  Ryan  seemed 
not  to  notice  him.  Farrell  sat  down  on  a  low 
form  which  extended  along  one  side  of  the  office, 
and  Ryan  wheeled  his  greasy  chair  around  to  get 
a  better  view  of  his  face.  "  I  don't  really  know 
how  I  feel  this  morning  ;  I  see  you  look  splendid. 
My  men  here  are  so  much  attached  to  me  that  it 
overpowers  me.  There  is  a  young  man  just  gone 
out  there,  and  he  is  after  telling  me  he'd  rather 
work  for  me  night  and  day  than  get  into  the  Bank 
of  Ireland.  Did  Phil  say  that,  Ned  ?"  continued 
he,  addressing  a  long,,  lean,  crooked-eyed,  ill-clad 
youth,  who,  planted  on  one  knee,  was  scratching 
with  a  quill  pen  in  a  greasy  book  which  lay  on  a 
low,  flat  bench  before  him. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  more,  sir,"  said  the  well-trained 
youth,  turning  his  face  towards  his  master  and 
Farrell,  but  with  his  eyes  on  the  opposite 
wall. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  so  forgetful.  What  else  did  he 
say,  Ned  ?  Keep  down  your  head  while  you're 
talking." 

Ned  almost  struck  his  nose  against  the  desk; 
but,  being  an  inquisitive  youth,  one  of  his  eyes 
rested  on  Miles's  face,  where  it  remained,  to  the 
great  horror  of  the  latter. 

"  Phil  said,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  that  he  never 
knew  what  comfort  or  happiness  was  till  he  met 


Annie  Reilly.  37 

with  you,  and  that  his  mother  thinks  he  must  be 
in  heaven." 

"  Ah  !  poor  woman,"  said  Ryan,  rolling  his  eyes 
along  the  ceiling,  "  she  is  a  widow.  I  never 
wronged  a  widow.  Evil  tongues  may  say  I  have. 
I  would  wrong  myself,  I  would  wrong  myself  to 
help  a  widow.  That  is  my  nature,  Farrell.  I 
can't  help  it ;  neither  do  I  want  to.  I  am  a  public 
nuisance — I  mean  a  public  institution,  Farrell. 
Some  are  grateful,  some  are  not ;  but  whether 
they  are  or  not  does  not  interfere  with  my  claim 
beyond  the  skies.  When  an  injury  is  done  to  me, 
I  am  always  ready  to  forgive  it  ;  that's  me,  John 
Griffin  Ryan." 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Mr.  Gary,"  said  Farrell,  who 
had  not  spoken  since  he  sat  down  ;  "may  I  ask 
what  for  ?" 

"Yes,  yes;  so  I  did,"  said  Ryan,  stroking  his 
chin.  "  I  chanced  to  meet  Mrs.  "Reilly.  Farrell, 
you  ought  to  be  proud  of  that  woman,  so  hand 
some,  and  so  clever  in  her  remarks  besides.  I  met 
her  yesterday  evening  when  me  and  Mr.  Crofton 
were  going  up  the  street.  I  introduced  Mr.  Crof 
ton  to  her,  and  I  don't  think  she  cared  much  for 
the  compliment.  She  is  very  independent,  I  tell 
you.  My  opinion  is  this,"  and  his  gray  eye  glis 
tened  villanously  :  "  it  is  all  very  well  for  some 
people  to  be  independent.  I  only  say  that  as 


38  Annie  Reilly. 

my  opinion  ;    other  people  may  think  different- 

iy." 

"  Well,  Mr.Ryan,"  said  Farrell,  rising,  while  he 
bit  his  j.ip  to  restrain  his  anger,  "  is  this  all  you 
want  with  me?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said.Ryan  in  a  loud  voice,  "  'tis  not ; 
but,  if  your  time  is  so  precious  that  you  cannot 
wait  till  I  am  done,  you  may  go." 

"  I  came  here  to  listen  to  all  you  had  to  say," 
said  Farrell,  his  heart  sinking. 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,"  said  Ryan,  "  that  I  am 
your  landlord  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  so,"  said  Farrell,  "  but  was  not 
certain  of  it  till  now." 

"You  maybe  certain  of  it,"  said  Ryan  pomp 
ously.  "  Ned,  when  did  we  get  the  deed  of  that 
townland,  me  and  Mr.  Crofton  ?" 

"  Day  afore  yesterday,  sir,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  Yes,  so  it  was  the  day  before  yesterday,"  said 
Ryan,  nodding  his  head.  "  You  see,  I  have  so 
much  business  to  attend  to,  Farrell,  that  I  cannot 
remember  dates  at  all.  I  want  to  tell  you  now, 
Farrell — you  know  the  great  wish  I  always  had 
for  you — quietly  and  in  a  Christian  way  that  I 
have  let  the  whole  townland  to  one  man.  It  is 
the  most  profitable  way  for  me,  and  will  give  me 
the  least  trouble." 

"  O  great  God  !  Mr.  Ryan,"  exclaimed  Farrell, 


Annie  Reilly. 

smiting  his  forehead,  and  sinking  back  on  the 
seat,  "  you  would  not  do  that.  You  would  not 
send  adrift  an  old  family  whose  ancestors  have 
lived  on  the  land  for  a  hundred  years." 

"  Mr.Ryan,"  said  Miles,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  burst 
ing  forward,  and  speaking  for  the  first  time, 
"  surely  you  are  not  in  earnest.  We  will  pay  you 
any  rent  you  choose,  if  ourselves  and  our  families 
starve." 

Ryan's  gray  eye  turned  on  the  last  speaker, 
and  he  said  slowly  and  emphatically:  "You 
are  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  sir ;  go  out 
from  this  place.  I  will  give  some  of  your 
family  an  opportunity  to  starve.  The  diet  on 
Spike  Island  is  very  low,  and  the  air  very  ap 
petizing.  You  can  tell  your  son  that."  Then, 
turning  to  Farrell,  he  went  on  :  "  You  say,  Far- 
rell,  your  ancestors  have  lived  on  this  townland 
of  mine  for  nearly  a  hundred  years  ?" 

"  I  can  prove  it,  sir,"  said  Farrell.  "  My  grand 
father  was  born  in  the  house  I  live  in  now." 

"  Don't  you  know,  Farrell,"  said  Ryan,  in  a  per 
suasive  manner,  "  that  this  is  an  age  of  improve 
ments  ?  All  the  old  institutions  are  giving  place 
to  new  ones.  Mighty  changes,"  continuedRyan, 
remembering  a  line  he  had  read  that  morning  in 
an  old  newspaper,  "  are  going  on  around  us  every 
day,  and  we  find  no  man  Crumbling.  I  did  not 


4O  Annie  Reilly. 

think,  Farrell,  that  you,  of  all  men  living,  would 
set  yourself  againstr  the  tide.  I  thought  I  had 
only  to  mention  the  thing  to  you,  and  you  would 
be  delighted  to  find  this  revolution  coming  home 
to  as.  Your  wife,  I  know,  wishes  things  to  remain 
as  they  are ;  but  I  did  not  think  she  could  influence 
a  man  of  your  sound  understanding."- 

"  Oh !  'tis  nothing  new,  as  you  know  very  well," 
said  Farrell,  "  for  foreigners  to  drive  us  from  our 
homes.  That  is  one  of  the  oldest  institutions 
of  this  country;  and  surely  you,  a  man  brought 
up  in  our  midst,  would  not  follow  their  exam 
ple." 

"  Let  me  go  a  little  further,"  said  Ryan,  with 
dignity.  "  Other  landlords  have  taken  their  hold 
ings  from  people,  and,  rather  than  let  them  live 
on  the  land,  preferred  to  let  it  lie  waste.  Now, 
what  I  am  going  to  do  is  this  :  I  will  rent  the  hull 
townland  to  one  good  Englishman,  who  will  in 
troduce  everything  English  and  grand  into  the 
parish,  and  make  us  thoroughly  civilized  ;  for  we 
are  in  a  backward  state,  Farrell." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  ?  "  said  the  latter,  for 
getting  his  danger  in  the  height  of  his  disgust. 
"Are  you  not  an  Irishman  yourself?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,"  saidRyan,  stand 
ing  up  and  straightening  himself  to  his  full 
height.  "  I  am  not  sure  about  that.  My  fore- 


Annie  Reilly.  41 

fathers  were  Normans — the  Carews.  I  may  have 
Irish  blood  in  me  by  the  Griffins,  but  the  Carews 
were  French.  Anyway,  I  wish  there  was  not  a 
drop  of  Irish  blood  in  my  veins." 

"  So  do  I,  from  my  heart,"  said  Farrell ;  but,  re 
membering  his  family  at  home,  said  no  more. 

"  Now,  the  wisest  and  best  thing  for  you  to  do, 
Farrell,"  said  Ryan,  "is  to  move  off  as  soon  as 
you  can.  How  long,  Ned,  did  my  attorney  say 
we  could  give  them  ?  " 

"  Three  days,  sir,"  answered  Ned. 

"  And  you  are  bent  on  doing  this?"  said  Farrell, 
wringing  his  hands. 

"  My  dear  man,"  said  Ryan  calmly,  "  I  sent  for 
you  for  a  little  quiet  chat  this  morning,  intending 
to  mention  this  matter  to  you  in  the  course  of 
the  conversation  ;  and  now  you  lose  your  temper." 

So  saying,  Ryan  stepped  nimbly  into  the  office, 
for  both  were  outside  at  this  time,  and  quicklj 
closed  and  locked  the  door.  Miles  had  been  wait 
ing  outside  for  his  neighbor,  and  both  slowly  re- 
turned  home,  a  pair  of  heart-broken  men. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOME   MORE  OF  THE  DOINGS   OF  THIS  VERY 
HONEST   MAN 

|HE  evening  following  the  morning  of 
her  father's  interview  with  John  G. 
Ryan,  Annie  was  sitting  alone  in  the 
shade  of  a  tall  whitethorn  which 
grew  near  the  river's  bank,  her  head  bent  on 
her  bosom,  and  the  warm  tears  streaming  down 
her  pale  cheeks.  Herself  and  her  mother  had 
spent  a  morning  of  the  most  intense  anxiety, 
dreading,  hoping,  and  praying  for  good  tidings, 
and  guarding  lest  Francis  would  notice  anything 
unusual  the  matter;  for  they  were  resolved  to 
keep  the  sad  news  from  him  as  long  as  possible. 

The  anguish  of  the  family  was  intense  when 
Farrell  returned  with  word  that  their  worst  fears 
were  realized — in  less  than  three  days  they  would 
be  without  a  home.  Mrs.  Reilly  fainted  in  her 
unhappy  husband's  arms,  and  was  with  great  dif 
ficulty  restored  to  consciousness.  Francis — it  wa* 
needless  to  keep  the  calamity  from  his  know 
ledge  now — was  so  oppressed  with  grief  that 
he  cried  like  a  child.  Poor  Annie  bore  up  the 


Annie  Reilly.  43 

best  of  any,  and  did  all  in  her  power  to  comfort 
her  father  and  mother,  and  insisted  on  them  all 
joining  her  in  a  rosary  for  assistance  to  come 
through  this  terrible  misfortune  that  had  befallen 
them.  After  prayers,  they  felt  considerably  re 
lieved,  and  set  about  the  best  way  of  removing 
their  valuables  to  some  temporary  place  of  se 
curity. 

Annie  had  struggled  so  hard  to  repress  her 
feelings  during  the  day  that,  when  evening  came, 
she  felt  she  must  give  vent  to  her  tears,  or 
her  heart,  would  break.  So  overwhelming  was 
the  misfortune  that  she  could  not  bear  up 
against  it  all  day — the  desolation  of  her  own 
home,  and  Ryan's  threat  against  her  lover.  When 
her  father  and  brother  were  silently  engaged, 
she  left  the  cottage,  and  betook  herself  to  the 
spot  where  James  used  to  sing  to  her.  With 
what  a  light,  bounding  heart  she  used  to  ap 
proach  this  cosey  place  !  But  this  evening  how 
different !  James  was  always  there  waiting  for 
her;  but  this  evening  the  seat  was  empty.  She 
went  up  the  hillside  a  little  distance,  to  obtain  a 
better  view  along  the  shore ;  but,  no — far  as 
her  eye  could  reach,  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
For  a  little  she  stood  on  the  hillside  in  the 
calm  summer  air,  her  eyes  strained  in  the  direc 
tion  from  which  he  approached  the  seat  every 


44  Annie  Reilly. 

evening,  till  her  heart  sank  with  disappointment, 
and  her  sight  grew  dim  ;  then  she  mechanically 
sought  the  spot,  and  let  fall  her  burning  tears. 

"  Oh !  "  thought  she,  "  if,  in  addition  to  our  mis 
fortune,  Ryan  has  already  put  his  threat  into 
execution  against  James,  and  he  is  dragged 
away  to  where  I  may  never  see  him  again, 
what  shall  I  do?  Oh!"  exclaimed  she,  raising 
her  hands  to  heaven,  "  if  such  has  happened, 
may  God  in  His  mercy  take  me  !" 

She  then  bowed  her  head  and  wept,  she  knew 
not  how  long,  till  she  was  startled  by  hearing  a 
well-known  voice  pronounce  her  name  ;  but,  before 
she  could  raise  her  head,  James  O'Rourke  was 
seated  by  her  side,  her  hand  clasped  firmly  in 
his.  Annie  turned  her  streaming  face  towards 
him.  For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  O'Rourke's 
lips  quivered,  and  his  whole  frame  shook,  but  he 
heroically  kept  back  the  tears  rising  to  his  eyes. 

He  had  made  his  appearance  so  suddenly,  and 
the  poor  girl's  joy  was  so  great,  that  she  could 
only  cry  the  more  and  press  the  hand  that  held 
hers.  At  length  James  said  : 

"  Annie,  it's  no  use  in  me  asking  you  the  cause 
of  those  tears.  I  already  know  the  misfortune  that 
has  befallen  us  all.  But  it  is  useless  now  to  pine 
and  give  way  to  sorrow.  Better  bear  up  bravely, 
as  I  know  you  will,  Annie,  when  you  come  to 


Annie'  Reilly.  45 

reflect.  The  calamity  is  sudden,  and  we  must  be 
quick  to  meet  it." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  a  dreadful  thing,  James,"  said  Annie. 
"  I  struggled  with  my  feelings  for  my  father  and 
mother's  sake.  It  is  only  since  I  came  here  I 
have  showed  such  signs  of  grief." 

"  And  Heaven  bless  you  for  coming  here  this 
evening,"  said  he.  "  I  would  have  been  here 
long  ago,  if  I  could  ;  I  have  had  a  busy  evening 
of  it." 

Annie  surveyed  him  more  closely,  and  noticed 
how  soiled  and  mud-spattered  his  clothing  was, 
and  that  his  face  was  torn  with  thorns  and 
brambles. 

"  James,"  said  she  wildly,  the  recollection  of 
Ryan's  threat  again  rushing  into  her  head,  "  in 
God's  name,  tell  me  what  has  happened.  Has 
Ryan — 

"  Exactly,  Annie,"  said  he.  "  I  see  you  know 
it." 

"Father  told  us,"  said  she,  "that  he  made 
some  threat  against  you  ;  and  that  has  grieved 
me  more  than  anything  else." 

"  God  bless  you  !"  said  James,  placing  his  arm 
atound  her  neck.  "  I  feel  his  villany  more  for 
your  sake  ;  I  knew  it  would  grieve  you.  He  has 
put  his  threat  into  execution.  They  are  after  me 
now." 


4 6  Annie  Reilly. 

Annie's  head  fell  against  his  shoulder,  and  she 
moaned  deeply. 

"  Oh !  now  I  am  sorry  I  have  told  you  so 
much,"  said  her  lover,  raising  her  head,  and 
looking  into  the  beautiful,  pale,  quivering  face. 
"  But  now  let  me  tell  you  more.  You  promise, 
Annie,  now,  you  promise,"  and  he  pressed  his 
lips  to  hers,  "  that  you  will  be  a  brave  girl,  as 
you  always  were?  This  misery  will  soon  be 
over." 

"Oh!  yes,  I  do  promise,"  said  she;  "but  I 
beg  of  you  to  tell  me  quickly  whatever  it  is." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  darling,"  said  he ;  and 
again  he  kissed  her.  "  I  rely  on  you,  Annie  ;  you  are 
as  brave  as  a  little  lion,  now  that  your  resolution  is 
taken,  Well,  Ryan '  the  Pig  '  (John  was  known  by 
this  nickname  amongst  the  peasantry),  not  satis 
fied  with  driving  us  from  house  and  home,  has 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  make  a  charge  to  the 
police  against  me.  What  the  nature  of  the  accu 
sation  is  I  know  no  more  of  than  you  do;  but  he 
actually  swore  something  against  me  ;  for  my 
poor  father — God  help  him  ! — saw  the  warrant. 
When  the  police  were  in  our  house  a  few  hours 
ago,  I  happened  by  good  luck  to  be  absent  at 
the  time  ;  and  now  they  are  searching  the  whole 
neighborhood  for  me.  My  father  managed  to 
give  me  word  in  time  to  elude  them,  and  requested 


Annie  Reilly.  47 

me,  if  possible,  to  return  to  the  house  as  soon  as 
I  could,  and  he  would  try  and  procure  money 
enough  to  send  me  to  America.  I  did  so,  and 
he  gave  me  those  seven  sovereigns.  He  wanted 
me  to  take  a  few  more  he  had,  but  I  would  not. 
He  will  need  all  that  can  be  spared." 

"O  James !"  said  Annie,  and  her  hand  trem 
bled  violently  in  his.  "  And  you  are  going?" 

"  You  promised  to  be  a  brave  little  girl,  Annie," 
replied  he,  kissing  her  fervently.  "  Listen  to  me. 
They  will  surely  return  after  nightfall,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  me  there ;  and  for  your  sake,  Annie, 
and  for  the  sake  of  my  poor  old  father,  I  must 
disappoint  them.  Night  is  closing  around  now. 
We  have  not  long  to  stay  ;  and  again  I  ask  you 
to  promise  you  will  bear  up  bravely  and  gaily 
till  we  meet  again." 

"Ah,  James  !"  said  the  poor  girl,  and  her  little 
hand  felt  as  cold  as  ice,  "  till  we  rrveet  again. 
When  will  that  be,  James?" 

"  In  God's  good  time :  and  that  will  be  very 
soon,  my  love,"  replied  he.  "  I  know  I  shall 
get  on  well  in  America ;  and  how  I  shall  perse 
vere,  having  such  an  object  to  work  for — to  bring 
you  to  me,  my  darling  !  Nothing  shall  deter  me  • 
and  your  innocent,  sweet  prayers  will  save  me 
from  every  danger." 

Both    were    silent   for  a   moment.     The    grass 


4.8  Annie  Reilly, 

around  them  was  wet  with  dew ;  the  thick  rms* 
began  to  envelope  the  bosom  of  the  river ;  the 
mountain-top  was  no  longer  visible.  The  eastern 
horizon  was  beginning  to  assume  a  golden  hue, 
and  it  was  evident  the  moon  would  soon  rise. 

"Annie,"  said  James,  looking  cautiously 
around,  "the  time  has  come.  I  thank  God  I 
am  not  bidding  you  farewell  ;  but  I  must  bid 
you  good-by,  my  love,  for  a  few  weeks.  How 
swiftly  our  weeks  at  school  fled  away !  But  those 
few  now  will  look  like  so  many  years  to  me.  But 
they,  too,  will  have  an  end,  and  then  we  will  be 
together  again." 

Annie  was  a  brave  little  girl.  When  he  held 
both  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked  into  her  face  in 
the  dim  light,  she  was  ashy  pale  ;  but  not  a  tear 
fell.  A  sad  smile  came  on  her  lips ;  and  when  he 
pressed  her  to  his  breast,  and  again  and  again 
kissed  her,  she  did  not  add  to  the  anguish  of  that 
moment  by  a  sob.  And  when  he  darted  away  in 
the  darkness,  and  left  her  alone  on  the  strand, 
she  knelt  down  and  besought  Heaven  to  watch 
ovei  mm. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CHARGE  AGAlrfST  JAMES  O'ROURKE  EX 
PLAINED.  A  VISIT  TO  AN  IRISH  MAGIS 
TRATE. 

|OHN  G.  RYAN  was  a  very  cautious 
and  a  very  prudent  man.  When  he 
observed  so  many  of  nature's  laws 
so  faithfully,  it  is  needless  to  say  he 
was  not  unmindful  of  the  first — self-preservation. 
Miles  O'Rourke  or  his  son  had  never  done  him 
an  injury,  and,  prominently  as  he  shone  among 
other  men,  they  hardly  ever  mentioned  his  name 
or  bestowed  a  thought  on  him.  In  fact,  Miles 
and  his  son  belonged  to  that  sensible  class  of 
people  who  mind  their  own  business  and  let  the 
virtues  and  failings  of  their  neighbors  alone. 
Ryan  knew  he  was  about  to  perpetrate  a  grievous 
wrong  upon  them,  and  James  being  a  spirited 
young  fellow,  he  dreaded  he  might  be  revenged 
upon  him.  This  consideration  annoyed  Ryan 
considerably  for  a  little  time,  but  for  a  little  time 
only.  In  the  recesses  of  his  cunning  brain  he 
soon  hit  upon  a  remedy. 


50  Annie  Reilly. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  as  usual,  biting  the  ends  of  his  chin 
whisker,  and  pondering  over  the  vexed  question, 
when  a  light  suddenly  shone  upon  him,  and  he 
jumped  up  with  a  loud  "By  golly,  sir!"  that 
made  the  crooked-eyed  youth  jump  also,  and  his 
eyes  jump,  too,  in  a  ludicrous  manner. 

"  I  have  hit  upon  it !"  exclaimed  Ryan,  sitting 
down  again,  and  slapping  his  knee ;  but  as  he  did 
not  look  towards  the  wondering  youth,  the  latter 
did  not  venture  to  speak. 

"  Ned,"  said  Ryan  at  length,  turning  to  his 
charming  clerk,  "  I  want  you  to  swear  something 
for  me." 

"  Anything  you  like,  sir,"  replied  Ned,  half 
standing  up. 

"  You're  a  splendid  fellow,  Ned,"  said  he . 
"  you  and  I  will  get  along  smoothly  when  we  lay 
our  names  together." 

The  comely  youth  grinned  from  ear  to  ear, 
and  turned  a  whole  battery  of  blinks  on  his  kind 
master. 

"  Ned,"  said  Ryan,  stretching  his  legs,  "  do  you 
know  Miles  O'Rourke's  son?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Ned ;  "  as  well  as  I  know 
myself,  sir." 

"  So  far,  all  right,"  said  Ryan.  "  When  have 
you  seen  him  last?" 


Annie  Reilly.  51 

"  I  met  him  and  three  other  fellows  on  the  road 
three  or  four  nights  ago,"  was  the  answer. 

"  You  must  be  particular  as  to  dates,"  said 
Ryan,  shaking  his  head :  "  say  three  nights  ago. 
Now,  I  want  you — " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  broke  in  the  ardent  youth. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Ryan,  with  a  slight  frown. 
"  Now,  I  want  you  to  make  an  affidavit  before  a 
magistrate  that  you  were  concealed  behind  a 
hedge  at  the  time  you  saw  O'Rourke  and  those 
other  chaps,  and  that  you  heard  them  planning 
to  rob  the  police  barracks  of  the  arms  there.  Go 
back  to  your  writing  now,  and  I'll  call  you  again 
when  I  am  prepared  to  go  with  you  before  the 
magistrate." 

Ned  grinned  again  and  again — something  so 
very  unusual  for  him  that  the  work  must  have 
delighted  him  beyond  measure. 

Ryan,  having  transacted  his  morning's  business, 
talked,  lied,  and  cheated  as  usual — in  fact,  brought 
into  play  a  great  many  of  his  qualities — at  length 
called  Ned  to  accompany  him  to  the  office  of  the 
dispenser  of  law  and  justice.  Now,  the  private 
office  of  an  Irish  country  magistrate  is  such  a  very 
private,  sacred  spot  that  some  of  our  readers  may 
not  object  to  accompany  the  mighty  John,  the 
proud  Ned,  and  our  humble  self  into  the  presence 
of  Richard  Scruffy.  Esq.,  J.P..  on  this  occasion 


52  Annie  Reilly. 

Richard  Scruffy,  Esq.,  J.P.,  was  a  very  fair  type 
of  the  Irish  J.P.  some  years  ago,  or,  in  fact, 
would  not  be  altogether  out  of  fashion  to-day. 
Short  and  stout  in  figure,  with  an  immense  red 
face,  small  forehead,  and  very  bald  head,  an  ex 
pression  of  haughty  contempt,  tinged  with  a 
shade  of  profound  knowledge,  slowly  moving  in 
terrible  waves  across  his  countenance,  he  looked 
the  very  picture  of  stern,  unbending  justice. 

He  wore  a  blue  body-coat,  wide  in  the  skirts, 
and  very  tight  in  the  shoulders  •  wide  trowsers, 
white  as  snow,  save  one  large  discolored  spot  on 
one  thigh,  the  smell  of  which,  taken  in  conjunc 
tion  with  the  high  color  of  his  face,  might  lead  a 
malicious  person  to  imagine  something  he  had 
no  right  to  ;  a  long,  wide  vest,  which  seemed  to 
be  in  open  rebellion  with  the  rest  of  his  attire,  so 
fierce,  staring,  and  puckered  was  it  ;  and  an  im 
mense  black  neck-cloth. 

The  apartment  in  which  he  sat  was  of  very 
small  dimensions— four  like  Richard  Scruffy, 
Esq.,  J.P.,  would  fill  it  to  overflowing.  It  con 
tained,  besides  Richard — he  always  sat  there  at 
least  half  the  day,  knowing  vigilance  is  one  of 
Justice's  handmaids— a  little  round  table  with 
very  dirty  legs,  one  gigantic  chair,  and  a  row  of 
shelving  filled  with  large  law-books,  these  latter 
looking  so  very  dry  that  one  wondered  how  any 


Annie  Reilly.  53 

sensible  insurance  company  could  be  induced  to 
give  a  policy  on  them.  The  large  chair  served 
two  purposes :  first,  it  served  as  a  judicial  bench  ; 
and,  secondly,  as  a  bed  for  the  justice;  for,  not 
having  much  business  on  hand,  being  supported 
by  a  stipend,  Richard  slept  just  as  often  as  Justice 
did,  and  often  she  found  it  no  very  easy  matter 
to  rouse  him  up.  When  that  impartial  goddess, 
in  the  double  shape  of  John  G.  Ryan  and  Ned 
Buttler,  articled  clerk  of  the  aforesaid  John,  came 
to  the  office  door,  and  when  Ryan  struck  the  door 
thrice  with  his  knuckles  and  once  with  his  foot, 
and  then  put  his  ear  to  the  keyhole,  the  only  re 
sponse  was  the  slow,  regular  snore  of  Richard 
within.  Ryan  scratched  his  head,  and,  looking 
round  at  Ned,  said  : 

"  Here's  a  fix.     What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Dunt  the  door  again,  sir,"  was  the  prompt 
reply. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Ryan,  looking 
somewhat  in  dread  ;  "  he  has  such  a  bad  temper, 
if  we  were  to  rouse  him  up  suddenly,  he  might 
get  so  mad  that  he'd  clear  us  both  out.  I'll 
stand  back  by  the  wall  there,  and  do  you  come 
here  to  the  door,  and  give  a  rap  or  two." 

Ned  quickly  changed  places  with  his  master 
and  gave  the  door  two  such  knocks  that  Ryan 


54  Annie  Reilly. 

raised  his  eyes,  hands,  and  heels  at  the  same  time 
Ned  listened  ;  still  no  answer. 

"  Try  it  again,"  said  Ryan,  in  a  heavy  whisper, 
which  could  be  heard  much  further  away  than  his 
loudest  call ;  "  this  time  with  your  foot." 

Ryan's  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  Ned's  heel  as 
it  swurtg  behind  him.  The  next  moment  a  loud 
crash  sounded  on  his  ears,  followed  by  the  noise 
of  something  falling  inside,  and  then  a  stifled 
voice  within  the  office  called  out, 

"Murder!  Housebreaking !  Where  am  I  ?" 
Ryan  knew  the  magistrate's  voice,  and  retreated 
as  far  as  the  gate,  where  he  stood  with  his  head 
just  inside  the  entrance,  and  by  numerous  excited 
gestures  and  heavy  whispers  directed  the  equally 
alarmed  Ned  to  speak. 

"Who  are  you,  you  scoundrel?"  again  de 
manded  the  voice. 

"Speak,"  exclaimed  Ryan,  bending  down  and 
lifting  a  large  paving-stone,  "  or  I'll  scatter  your 
brains  against  the  wall." 

"  It's  me,  sir,"  said  Ned,  in  a  husky  voice,  and 
turning  his  head  towards  Ryan. 

"  Let  him  hear  you,"  s<iid  the  latter,  holding 
the  stone  in  a  very  threatening  attitude.  "  Say 
it's  a  man  to  do  his  duty,  according  to  the 
law." 

"  Where  is  my  vagabond  servant  ?     Where  are 


Annie  Reilly.  •  55 

my  pistols  ?  Is  there  no  one  to  come  to  my  re 
lief?"  said  the  voice  inside. 

"  It's  *  man  according  to  the  law,"  said  Ned, 
"  and  wants  to  see  you  badly,  sir.  We're  here 
this  hour." 

".You're  a  nice  man  to  mention  the  name  of 
the  law,"  said  the  voice,  "  and  come  here  and 
conduct  yourstlf  like  a  burglar,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  you  are." 

"  Say :  Your  honor,  we  only  want  to  speak  with 
you  a  minute  or  two,"  said  Ryan. 

"  Our  honors  only  want  to  speak  with  you 
a  minute  or  two,"  said  Ned,  in  his  excite 
ment. 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  John  shook 
the  stone  ominously  at  Ned,  and  pledged  him 
self  to  straighten  the  eyes  in  his  head,  if  he  did 
nothing  else. 

At  length  Ned  heard  a  footstep  enter  the 
office  from  some  other  apartment  within  the 
building,  and  then  he  could  hear  the  angry  voice 
of  the  magistrate  while  he  rated  his  servant  for 
his  want  of  vigilance. 

At  length  Richard  Scruffy,  Esq.,  told  the  man, 
in  a  very  loud  voice,  fo  open  the  door.  Ned  cast 
a  terrified  look  on  Ryan,  who  gave  him  such  a 
savage  glance 'in  return  that  it  completely  turned 
him  round.  The  key  sounded  in  the  door. 


56  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Stand  your  ground,"  whispered  Ryan,  "  or 
I'll  knock—" 

The  door  was  pulled  open,  and  Ned's  eyes 
danced  around  the  apartment,  and,  alighting  on 
Mr.  Scruffy's  indignant  face,  performed  a  regular 
"  break-down." 

"  Will  I  bring  him  in,  sir?"  asked  the  servant. 

"  Oh  !  no,"  replied  the  magistrate,  shading  his 
face  ;  "  let  him  come  no  nearer  to  me.  He  looks 
like  the  devil.  Ask  him  what  he  wants.  I 
wish  a  few  of  the  police  were  here  now." 

Ned  stood  still  just  outside  the  door,  his  cap 
squeezed  into  a  lump  in  his  hand,  and  kept  up  a 
galling,  incessant  fire  of  blinks  on  the  magistrate. 

"What's  your  business  with  his  honor?"  de 
manded  the  servant,  in  a  very  haughty  voice,  and 
assuming  a  very  threatening  attitude  ;  for  Ned,  as 
our  readers  already  know,  was  anything  but  a 
strong  man. 

"  He'll  tell  you  all,"  said  Ned,  in  desperation, 
and  pointing  towards  Ryan  who  had  advanced  his 
head  a  little  further,  to  catch  what  was  being 
said.  The  servant  glanced  towards  him,  and  Ryan 
seeing  he  could  delay  no  longer,  began  to  ap 
proach  the  door. 

"  This  is  another  of  them,  sir,"  said  the  ser 
vant  ;  "  but  I  think,  sir,  this  last  fellow  is  a  trades 
man  of  the  town." 


Annie  Reilly.  57 

Richard  Scruffy,  Esq.,  stretched  his  neck  fro  look 
into  the  yard,  and,  seeing  Ryan  smiled,  but  quickly 
made  up  his  mind  to  be  stern,  as  became  the 
majesty  of  the  law ;  so  he  frowned  grandly,  but 
not  exactly  on  Ryan. 

"  Your  honor,"  said  the  latter,  with  such  a  tre 
mendous  bow  that  his  foot  slipped  on  the  pave 
ment,  and  he  fell  against  the  side  of  the  door, 
and  his  hat  tumbled  into  the  office.  Ryan's  hat 
was  always  unfortunate,  and  gave  him  so  much 
trouble  that  we  wonder  a  man  of  his  wisdom  did 
not  conclude  to  go  bareheaded.  "  P — p — pa — 
par — pardon  me,  sir,"  he  stammered,  as  he  re 
gained  his  balance,  "  I — I — I — " 

"  You  overdid  the  thing,"  said  Richard,  with 
a  sore  attempt  at  a  smile  ;  but  quickly  added, 
while  his  judicial  brow  lowered,  "  Do  yoU  know 
that  fellow  ?"  pointing  to  Ned.  "  He  is  a  deci 
dedly  roguish-looking  fellow.  He'll  get  the  gal 
lows  yet,  or  my  name  is  not  R.  Scruffy.  How 
is  it  he  says  you  know  all  about  him  ?" 

"  I  took  hold  of  him,"  said  Ryan,  approaching 
familiarly. 

"  Don't  dirty  the  floor  with  your  feet,"  ex 
claimed  Richard,  stamping  one  of  his  own  on  the 
boards.  <v  Go  outside,  sir,  and  wipe  them,  sir, 
and  stand  by  the  door  while  you  are  talking  to 
me,  sir." 


5 8  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Anything  at  all  your  honor  plazes,"  said  Ryan 
bursting  outside.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.'' 

"  And  anothei  thing  I  beg  to  remind  you  of," 
said  Richard,  in  a  lofty  voice,  and  fitting  on  his 
spectacles:  "  don't  bother  me  with  an  account  of 
your  rascals.  You  are  the  leader  of  a  dangerous 
crowd."  And  offended  justice  climbed  into  the  big 
chair,  and  dipped  its  pen  into  a  huge  inkstand. 

John,  not  knowing  but  that  terrible  pen  would 
indite  some  words  that  might  ruin  him,  mounted 
the  door-step,  and  exclaimed,  while  the  heavy 
sweat  stood  on  his  brow,  "  Your  honor  knows  me 
as  a  loyal,  rebel-hating  man." 

"  Confine  yourself  to  the  case,"  roared  the 
magistrate,  "  or  " —  turning  to  the  servant — "  you 
put  him  outside  the  gate."  The  fellow  moved 
to  John's  side. 

"  I  will,  your  honor,"  said  Ryan.  "  I  came  here 
to  your  honor  to-day,  and  brought  my  young  man, 
in  the  interest  of  her  Majesty  the  Queen." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"  My  boy,  yer  honor,  seen  and  heerd  a  crowd 
of  rebels  plannin' — " 

"Stop,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  magistrate.  "I'll 
swear  the  boy  ;  bring  him  here." 

The  servant  guided  Ned  into  the  office,  and 
planted  him  in  front  of  the  magistrate. 

"  Don't  you  interrupt,  on  your  peril,"  said  the 


Annie  Reilly.  59 

latter,  looking  over  his  spectacles  at  Ryan.  Ryan 
backed  a  little  nearer  the  door. 

The  book  being  handed  to  Ned,  he  instantly 
kissed  it.  Mr.  Scruffy  looked  at  him  for  fully  a 
minute,  to  Ned's  great  comfort,  and  then  said  : 

"  That  fellow  is  a  fool  ;  I  don't  think  I  can  take 
his  evidence.  What  do  you  think  ?" — this  to  the 
servant. 

"  More  knave  nor  fool,"  replied  that  personage. 

"  He's  greedy  in  the  good  cause,  your  honor," 
said  Ryan,  while  something  painful  struggled  in 

his  neck.  "  Wait,  Ned,  ye ,  till  his  honor  says 

the  word." 

Ned  did  wait  this  time,  and  related  the  story 
to  the  magistrate  in,  as  near  as  he  could  remem 
ber,  the  words  his  master  had  told  him.  Richard's 
rage  knew  no  bounds. 

"  They  "(the  gentry,  we  suppose)  "  were  stand 
ing  on  a  volcano  which,  if  it  were  not  quenched 
with  a  flood  of  law,  would  burst  forth  and  scorch 
up  society  itself.  Young,  man,  and  you,  Ryan — 
though  you  did  dirty  the  floor — the  Queen  of  this 
realm  is  indebted  to  you  two,"  said  Richard 
Scruffy,  Esq.,  as  he  commenced  to  make  out  the 
warrant  for  young  O'Rourke's  arrest,  "  and  _shall, 
through  me,  her  servant,  hear  of  your  exertions 
on  her  behalf." 

Ryan's  joy  knew  no  bounds. 


60  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Your  honor,"  said  he,  scratching  his  head, 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself.  I  don't 
know  how  to  express  my  thanks.  I  am  sure 
we—" 

"  Put  them  out ;  clear  the  office,"  said  the 
magistrate,  with  calm,  cold  dignity. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LEAVING  THE  OLD  HOME. 

j]HEN  Annie,  with  tired  limbs  and  sad, 
sick  heart,  returned  to  the  cottage 
after  parting  from  her  lover,  she 
found  her  father  and  brother  putting 
their  valuables  in  a  condition  for  removal  to  a 
friend's  house  some  miles  distant.  Farrell  had 
resolved  that  they  would  not  wait  till  the  bailiff 
came  to  dispossess  them,  but  would  move  away 
before  suffering -the  indignity  of  being  turned  out 
by  that  obnoxious  official.  Owing  to  their  un 
happy  state,  they  did  not  notice  the  deep  grief 
exhibited  in  Annie's  face.  She  set  herself  to 
help  them  in  their  work  at  once,  calmly,  quietly; 
and,  after  a  little,  no  one  could  tell  that  any  other 
pain  lay  at  her  heart  except  grief  for  the  desola 
tion  that  had  fallen  on  her  poor  father's  home. 

Love,  when  shrouded  with  sorrow,  is  often  a 
strange  feeling.  It  lies  silently  gnawing  at  the 
heart,  but  shows  itself  not  to  the  world.  Al 
though  Annie's  face  had  grown  pale  and  wasted 
during  that  night,  in  the  morning  she  seemed  the 


62  Annie  Reilly. 

happiest  one  of  the  family — if  we  can  apply  the 
word  happy  to  that  stricken  home. 

EaUy  in  the  day,  Farrell  and  his  son  had  every 
thing  ready.  All  the  neighbors  came  to  their 
assistance;  for  no  man  in  the  parish  was  more 
deservedly  popular  than  Farrell  Reilly.  His 
ready  help  to  others  in  their  hour  of  need  was 
not  forgotten  when  his  own  trouble  came. 

It  was  drawing  towards  the  close  of  summer, 
and  Farrell  had  as  much  of  his  crop  as  the  season 
permitted  gathered  in.  A  number  of  men,  with 
horses  and  carts,  and  everything  available  for 
carrying  a  load,  thronged  to  the  little  farm.  The 
cattle  Francis  had  driven  in  the  early  part  of  the 
day  to  the  friend's  farm,  and  by  evening  every 
thing  that  could  be  removed  was  taken  away. 

Farrell,  and  his  wife,  and  Annie  stood  by  the 
old  cottage,  looking  after  the  last  load  of  furniture 
as  it  lumbered  down  the  hillside.  Mrs.  Reilly 
had  been  very  ill  all  the  day,  and  the  family 
dreaded  very  much  the  effect  of  the  last  moment 
upon  her.  Farrell  and  she  had  lived  .happily  in 
the  old  place  for  over  twenty  years.  Her  own 
family  home  stood  on  the  top  of  an  adjoining  hill 
looking  down  on  her  husband's  cottage.  Her 
father  and  mother  had  died  some  years  before, 
and  bad  crops  and  sickness  had  swept  away  every 
member  of  the  family.  One  of  her  brothers  died 


Annie  Reilly.  63 

r 

from  hardships  endured  by  hard  work  in  the  cold, 
wet  season.  Another  had  left  for  America  many 
years  before,  and  the  only  account  she  ever  heard 
of  him  was  that  he  had  died  of  yellow  fever  in 
Savannah.  Still,  it  was  a  melancholy  pleasure  to 
Mrs.  Reilly  to  sit  in  the  little  garden  during  the 
long  summer  evenings  with  her  knitting,  while 
the  rest  of  the  family  were  engaged  elsewhere,  and 
turn  her  eyes  .towards  her  father's  house,  now  un- 
tenanted,  and  gaze  on  its  ivy-covered  walls  and 
tall,  bare  chimneys,  which  seemed  to  speak  to  her 
of  times  long  gone.  Then  she  would  think  of  her 
childhood  days,  when  she  laughed,  and  sported, 
and  played  on  the  hill-top.  Every  tree,  bush,  or 
rock  called  back  to  her  memory  some  recollection 
of  those  days.  Then  she  would  think  of  the  time 
when  Farrell,  a  gay  young  fellow,  with  a  bright, 
laughing  face,  used  to  come  and  sit  by  her  as  she 
milked  the  cows  in  the  little  sheltered  corner 
field.  How  she  used  to  delight  in  annoying  him 
by  calling  him  names,  and  mocking  his  old  frieze 
coat,  with  one  new  arm,  and  his  old  slouch  hat, 
with  the  piece  of  black  cloth  wrong  side  out 
sewed  on  its  front  with  white  thread.  How  she 
used  to  refuse  to  let  him  help  her  in  any  way,  but 
rebuff  him  in  every  way ;  and  then,  when  he  was 
gone,  cry  till  her  eyes  grew  red  fr\r  saying  so  much 
to  him,  and  make  a  resolution  never  to  torment 


64  Annie  Reilly. 

him  again — a  resolution  which  was  suie  to  be 
broken  the  following  evening.  Then  of  the  even 
ing  when  Farrell,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  in 
sisted  on  carrying  the  milk-cans  a  little  way  for 
her,  and  how  very  sheepish  and  red  he  looked 
when  he  left  them  down  behind- the  garden-gate, 
and,  turning  his  eyes  away  from  hers,  began  to 
fumble  the  pockets  of  his  coat,  and  asked  her  to 
speak  a  word  with  him.  How,  when  he  asked 
her  would  she  become  his  wife,  and  began  telling 
her  how  snug  and  happy  he  could  keep  her,  how 
she  ran  away  from  him,  and  told  him  she  thought 
him  a  bigger  fool  than  ever ;  that  night  she  cried 
till  her  heart  was  sick.  How  poor  Farrell  came 
the  following  evening,  and  she  would  not  speak 
to  him  nor  look  at  him  for  some  time.  How 
Farrell  carried  the  milk-cans  for  her  that  evening 
again,  and  begged  of  her  to  let  him  ask  her  father 
and  mother  for  their  consent ;  and  how  delighted 
he  was  when  she  told  him  she  did  not  care,  till 
she  had  to  knock  the  hat  off  his  head,  and  tell 
him  to  keep  a  proper  distance.  Even  then  she 
could  not  help  laughing  at  the  awkward  embar 
rassment  of  Farrell ;  and  how  every  word  stuck 
in  his  throat  when  he  came  around  the  following 
Sunday  night,  right  gaily  clad,  with  a  bottle  of 
whisky  staring  out  of  each  pocket,  to  make  the 
request.  Then  she  would  think  of  what  a  good 


Annie  Reilly.  65 

kind  husband  Farrell  had  always  been.  If  her 
thoughts  came  down  to  the  time  when  her  poor 
brothers,  after  every  effort,  failed  to  keep  the  old 
homestead,  the  tears  would  fill  her  eyes,  and  she 
would  re-enter  the  cottage. 

As  we  said  before,  Farrell,  and  his  son  and 
daughter,  seeing  her  distress  of  mind,  and  know 
ing  how  fondly  she  loved  the  dear  old  spot,  were 
in  great  dread  lest  the  final  moment  would  prove 
too  much  for  her.  Farrell  allowed  his  son  to  go 
on,  while  he  and  Annie  tried  to  engage  the  poor 
woman's  thoughts  by  talking  of  the  great  kind 
ness  of  their  neighbors,  and  how  well  and  neatly 
everything  was  prepared  for  the  journey. 

"  You  see,"  said  Farrell,  raising  his  hat  from  his 
eyes,  where  he  had  kept  it  all  the  morning,  and 
looking  round  on  his  wife  and  daughter,  "  the 
kindness  and  honest  generosity  of  our  neighbors 
altogether  take  away  the  bitterness  of  this  day. 
Surely  it  is  true  'tis  only  in  adversity  we  can  tell 
our  friends.  And,"  added  he,  with  an  attempt 
at  a  smile,  "  in  our  misfortune,  we  cannot  count 
our  friends.  We  seem  to  have  no  enemies  at 
all." 

"  None  but  the  one,  Farrell,"  said  Mrs.  Reilly, 
looking  at  him  with  a  strange,  wan,  wild  look, 
"  and  can  all  the  friends  in  the  world  make  up 
what  he  has  done  ?  Heaven  forgive  me  !  "  she 


66  Annie  Reilly. 

added  sorrowfully.  "  Sure  our  best  fri«nd  is 
God." 

"  Just  think  of  that,  now,"  said  Farrell.  He  was 
going  to  say  more,  but  a  scream  from  Annie 
startled  him,  and,  turning  round,  he  saw  his  wife 
reclining  in  her  daughter's  arms,  while  a  stream 
of  blood  poured  from  her  nose  and  down  over 
her  face  and  breast.  Farrell  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  handing  Annie  the  key,  bade  her  open  the 
door  again  ;  for,  unobserved  by  Mrs.  Reilly,  he 
had  locked  the  door,  never  again  intending  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  cottage.  The  alarmed 
girl  did  so,  and,  procuring  some  water  in  an  old 
vessel  which  had  been  thrown  aside,  poured  it 
over  the  face  and  hands  of  the  fainting  woman. 
Everything  they  could  do  was  fruitless  to  stop 
the  flow  of  blood ;  and,  terribly  alarmed,  and 
almost  dead  from  grief,  Farrell  told  Annie  to  run 
for  the  priest.  Her  hair  flowing  in  wild  disorder, 
and  her  cheeks  wet  from  tears,  Annie  started  off 
to  the  chapel.  She  found  Father  Fitzpatrick 
walking  around  the  church  reading.  The  clergy 
man  had  raised  his  eyes  from  the  book  when  she 
was  entering  the  gate,  and,  seeing  the  wild  and 
alarmed-looking  girl  coming  towards  *him,  ad 
vanced  to  meet  her.  Seeing  who  it  was,  he 
asked  : 

"  Annie,  my  child,  what  is  the  matter?  " 


Annie  Reilly.  67 

She  stopped  short,  and  for  a  second  or  two 
could  make  no  reply. 

"What  is  wrong  with  you,  my  child?"  he 
asked  again  softly,  laying  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  O  father !  "  said  Annie  at  length,  "  I  fear 
mother  is  dying.  Pray,  father,  come  quickly  to 
the  house  with  me." 

The  good  priest  needed  no  second  request,  but, 
hastening  into  the  chapel,  prepared  himself  for 
the  solemn  visit.  Annie  waited  for  him  at  his 
request,  and,  his  car  being  quickly  harnessed,  both 
Jashed  away  at  full  speed  to — to — where  was  once 
the  home  of  Farrell  Reilly. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LEAVING   THE   OLD   HOME. 

jHEN  Father  Fitzpatrick  and  Annie 
reached  the  cottage,  they  found  Mrs. 
Reilly  still  insensible  ;  but  the  flow 
of  blood  from  her  nose  had  been 
stopped.  As  they  drove  up  the  hillside,  the 
clergyman  looked  with  a  serious,  troubled  face  at 
the  cottage,  with  its  bare  and  desolated  appear 
ance,  broken  panes,  and  closed  door;  then  at  the 
little  farmyard,  in  which  little  heaps  of  rubbish 
were  lying  here  and  there  ;  but  everything  else 
was  gone.  He  sighed  heavily,  but  made  no  re 
mark  to  Annie. 

Mrs.    Reilly   reclined    against    her    husband's 
breast  as  he  sat  on  the  ground  by  the  wall. 

"  O  father  dear !  "  said  Farrell,  as  the  priest 
entered,  "  I  am  afraid  she  is  going  from  us.  I 
knew  this  would  be  too  much  for  her.  See  how 
deadly  pale  she  is ;  and  I  cannot  feel  her 
breath." 
The  clergyman  bent  down,  and  lifted  one  of 


Annie  Reilly.  69 

the  suffering  woman's  hands  in  his,  and  felt  her 
pulse. 

"  Her  pulse  is  very  low,  Farrell,"  said  he.  "  She 
is  certainly  very  much  exhausted.  Let  me  assist 
you  to  bring  her  to  the  door.  She  will  recovei 
quicker  in  the  open  air  than  here." 

Both  carried  her  to  the  door-step,  and  Farrell 
supported  her  in  his  arms,  while  the  priest  chafed 
her  hands  and  temples. 

Annie's  grief  knew  no  bounds.  She  could  not 
silence  her  sobs,  and,  as  in  her  present  state  she 
could  be  of  no  service  to  her  mother,  the  priest 
requested  her  to  keep  within  the  house.  This 
poor  Annie  could  not  do,  but  stood  apart  wring 
ing  her  hands  and  moaning  sadly. 

At  length  the  clergyman  announced  that  the 
sufferer's  pulse  beat  more  lively,  and  that  she 
would  soon  recover. 

"  Oh  !  thank  heaven,  father,"  said  Annie,  ap 
proaching  and  peering  into  her  mothers  face. 
"  Do  you  think  truly  she  will  recover?" 

"  With  God's  help,  my  child,"  returned  he,  "  I 
think  she  will  recover  sufficiently  to — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  Annie  and  her  father 
looked  into  his  anxious,  gentle  face.  Farrell  well 
knew  what  the  father  would  have  added,  and, 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
that  went  to  the  kind  priest's  heart : 


70  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Lord,  look  down  on  us  to-day !  We  are  in 
deed  but  poor  outcasts." 

Gradually   the    fingers   of    the    hand    Father 
Fitzpatrick  held  in  his  began  to  move,  the  white  « 
lips  parted  a  little,  the  poor  woman  opened  her 
eyes  for  an  instant,  and,  seeming  to  notice  the 
priest,  she  faintly  uttered  : 

"  Thanks  be  to  God  !  " 

After  a  few  moments,  her  eyes  opened  again, 
and  she  looked  around  on  the  little  group. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Mary.  One  word  to  poor  me," 
said  Farrell,  putting  the  side  of  his  face  to  hers — 
41  one  word." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  you,  Farrell,"  said  she.  "  Where 
are  we?  " 

"  We  are  here  in  the  old  home  yet,"  said 
he. 

"  Yet,  Farrell,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  so  low  and 
weak  as  to  be  hardly  audible,  "  I  thought  Annie 
and  I  were  on  board  a  very  large  ship  going  to 
America,  and  that  you  were  beyond  waiting  for 
us." 

"  Father  Fitzpatrick  is  here,  Mary,"  said  her 
husband  gently. 

"  Oh  !  and  he  was  in  my  dream,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Reilly. 

"  Thank  God  and  His  Holy  Mother  you  have 
recovered !  "  said  the  priest,  again  lifting  her 


Annie  Reilly.  71 

hand  ;  "  that  your  life  has  been  spared  this  time 
You  will  soon  be  well  again.  I  will  wait  a  little 
till  you  are  beyond  danger ;  but  I  think  'tis  not 
necessary  to  administer  to  you." 

"  Oh !  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  that, 
father,"  said  Annie,  in  a  whisper.  "  You  being 
here  will  keep  her  from  thinking  of  our  downfall 
till  we  are  away  from  this  place." 

"  Away  from  this  place  ?  "  said  the  priest,  with 
a  startled  look. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  father  ;  Ryan  put  us  out.  But  don't 
mention  it  now,"  looking  at  her  mother ;  "  father 
will  explain  all  to  you.  We  are  moving  to  my 
cousin's  house,  and  must  leave  here  to-night. 
Everything  belonging  to  us  is  gone." 

The  good  priest's  heart  sank  within  him.  The 
oldest  and  most  respectable  faintly  in  his  parish 
banished  so  ruthlessly.  What  would  follow  next? 
He  thought  of  the  blessings  of  the  union,  and  re 
solved  to  join  the  National  Association  as  soon 
as  expedient. 

Mrs.  Reilly's  strength  continued  to  return 
slowly;  and  the  kind,  gentle  priest  entered  into 
a  quiet  conversation  with  her  on,  the  improve 
ments  he  was  making  in  his  new  church  ;  told 
her  how  beautiful  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
would  look  when  completed. 

"  Were  it  not  for  the  devotion  of  yourself  and 


72  Annie  Reilly. 

some  other  good  ladies  of  the  parish,  in  decorat 
ing  it  with  flowers,"  he  went  on,  "  it  would  have 
looked  very  poorly  indeed  during  the  month  of 
May  devotions.  But  now  we  will  soon  have  a 
new  altar,  with  candlesticks  from  Paris ;  and  the 
*  Virgin  and  Child '  which  we  had  then  will  be 
too  small,  so  I  am  going  up  to  Dublin  in  a  few 
days  to  purchase  an  elegant  one,  and  you  must 
come  and  give  me  your  opinion  of  it  before  we 
set  it  up ;  and  then  those  two  windows  on  each 
side  of  the  altar  are  going  to  be  taken  out.  A 
wealthy  Irish-American  gentleman,  a  namesake 
of  mine,  whom  I  met  on  his  way  to  the  lakes  a 
few  days  ago,  is  going  to  put  in  beautiful  stained 
glass  in  its  place ;  so  that  I  think,  when  every 
thing  is  completed,  we'll  not  have*much  right  to 
feel  ashamed  of  our  little  chapel." 

The  kind,  affectionate  manner  and  chat  of  the 
good  pastor  soothed  so  much  the  anguish  the 
poor  woman  felt  that  it  almost  made  her  forget 
her  desolation .  for  the  time.  He  continued  to 
engage  her  thoughts  in  this  manner  till  he  saw 
she  was  strong  enough  to  be  assisted  into  his  car 
and  taken  to  her  new  home.  Farrell  and  Annie 
thanked  him  fervently  for  his  kind  proposition  ; 
the  four  seated  themselves  in  the  car,  and,  as  they 
did  so,  the  priest  began  relating  a  comic  incident 
about  one  of  his  parishoners,  whom  the  others 


Annie  Reilly.  73 

knew  very  well,  which  he  kept  up  till  they  were  out 
of  view  of  the  cottage.  If  he  saw  any  signs  of  the 
return  of  the  deep  sorrow  they  had  felt  in  the 
face  of  any  of  his  companions,  he  instantly  be 
spoke  that  one's  attention,  and  talked  and  laugh 
ed  incessantly  till  they  reached  the  house  of 
Maurice  Handley,  which  was  their  destination. 
After  again  receiving  their  heartfelt  thanks,  and 
giving  them  his  blessing,  Father  Fitzpatrick  re 
turned  home  with  as  sad  a  heart  as  those  he  had 
parted  from. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TOSSED  ABOUT  ON  THE  WAVES  OF  ADVERSITY 

AUR1CE  HANDLEY,  Farrell's  ne 
phew,  lived  in  a  cosey  little  cottage  a 
short  way  from  the  broad  road  and 
close  by  the  demesne  wall  of  Castle- 
saunderson,  the  Irish  residence  of  Colonel  Saunder- 
son,  the  gentleman  who  had  sold  the  town-land 
containing  Reilly  and  O'Rourke's  farms  to  Ryan 
and  Crofton.  He,  too,  was  a  tenant  of  Saunder- 
son's.  Maurice  was  a  young  man  of  thirty  or 
thereabouts,  and  only  a  year  married.  His  wife 
was  a  strong,  healthy  young  woman,  with  an 
abundance  of  black  hair  and  a  very  sharp,  rather 
unfriendly  face.  A  small  fruit  of  their  union,  in 
the  shape  of  a  pretty  little  girl  about  six  weeks  old, 
had  already  appeared,  and  Maurice  was.  very 
happy.  But  the  sudden  desolation  that  had 
fallen  on  his  uncle  had  pained  him  very  much. 
His  mother  had  died  a  few  years  before,  and 
Maurice  was  very  much  attached  to  her,  and 
used  to  listen  with  pride  and  pleasure  to  her 
stories  about  the  old  home. 

Father  Fitzpatrick,  before  leaving,  had  caution- 


Annie  Reilly.  75 

ed  him  and  his  wife  to  be  careful  and  mention 
nothing  relating  to  the  misfortune  that  had  be 
fallen  his  uncle's  family  in  the  hearing  of  Mrs. 
Reilly,  but  to  talk  over  other  matters,  and  appear 
as  gay  as  possible.  Both  thanked  the  good  priest 
for  his  advice,  and  promised  to  strictly  obey  his 
instructions.  Francis  and  Annie,  too,  entered 
into  the  plot,  and,  hard  as  the  effort  was,  conduct 
ed  themselves  as  they  used  to  do  in  the  old  home 
before  sorrow  came  there.  The  nephew,  in  order 
to  carry  out  the  plan  to  the  fullest,  resolved  to 
make  their  first  evening  one  of  rejoicing,  and 
procured  the  necessary  articles  from  the  village 
for  that  purpose. 

Mrs.  Handley  and  Annie  set  out  for  the  shop 
together,  and,  now  that  she  was  from  the  presence 
of  her  heart-broken  parents,  and  had  one  of  her 
own  sex  to  confide  in,  her  tears  began  to  fall,  and 
she  lamented  bitterly  their  sad  situation.  Mrs. 
Handley's  only  effort  to  comfort  her  was  by  re 
minding  her  that  she  saw  no  cause  for  her  lament 
ing  now  that  she  had  found  a  home  so  quickly, 
and  added  that  many  whom  she  had  known  to  be 
"  put  out  "  had  no  friends  to  open  their  door  to 
them,  but  let  them  go  to  the  poor-house. 

"  Oh !"  said  Annie,  looking  surprised  through 
her  tears  at  the  cutting  words  of  the  other,  ''  I 
don't  think  we  are  so  far  reduced  as  to  be  com- 


76  Annie  Reilly. 

pelled  to  go  to  the  poor-house.  Father  has  a 
little  left  yet." 

"  No  danger  of  him  or4you  either  going  there 
while  Maurice  has  a  home.  That  man  thinks 
more  of  his  friends  than  I  believe  is  good  for 
him.  Whatever  your  father  has  got,  he  can  hold 
on  to  it  now." 

Annie's  face  flushed,  and  her  eye  kindled  ;  this 
cold  taunting  in  the  day  of  her  distress  she  could 
not  be  silent  under. 

"  Martha,"  she  replied,  drying  her  tears,  "  had 
we  known  how  unwelcome  we  were  to  you,  we 
could  very  easily  have  found  a  home  with  some 
of  our  neighbors." 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  intend  to  vex  you  at  all,"  replied 
Martha,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  For  my  part, 
you  are  welcome  to  stay  here  as  long  as  you 
like." 

"  We  will  not  trouble  you  long,"  replied  Annie. 
"  I  shall  tell  my  brother,  and  he  will  provide  some 
place  for  us.  You  ma^  -rely  on  it." 

The  two  then  walked  on  in  silence,  Martha 
amusing  herself  with  humming  a  verse  of 
an  old  country  ballad.  Maurice  was  all  kind 
ness  and  hospitality,  and  succeeded  so  well  in 
entertaining  the  old  pair  that  evening  that, 
before  they  parted  for  the  night,  both  felt 
much  happier  than  they  had  at  any  time  since 


Annie  Reilly.  77 

their  desolation.  When  the  others  were  engag 
ed,  Annie  beckoned  Francis  to  follow  her,  and 
when  he  did  so,  led  him  to  the  edge  of  the  grove, 
and,  sitting  down  on  the  grass,  addressed  him 
thus : 

"  Francis,  I  have  tried  hard  to  keep  my  feelings 
from  my  father  and  mother  this  evening." 

"  That  was  a  great  effort  on  my  part,  too,"  re 
plied  Francis. 

"  Oh  !  but,  Francis,"  she  said,  "  you  don't 
know  as  much  as  I  do.  By  Maurice's  wife  we  are 
heartily  unwelcome  here.  I  had  a  few  words 
with  her  on  our  way  to  the  village  this  evening. 
She  insulted  me  very  badly."  And  Annie  put  her 
apron  to  her  eyes  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Oh  !  nonsense,  Annie,"  said  Francis,  drying 
her  tears;  "  tell  me  what  has  passed.  I  could  see 
it  in  her  to-night  by  the  way  she  looked  at 
father  and  mother,  and  kept  continually  finding 
an  excuse  to  make  one  or  the  other  shift  their 
place  at  the  fire,  that  we  were  anything  but  wel 
come.  But  then,  Maurice  is  such  a  generous- 
hearted  fellow  himself  I  would  rather  not  notice 
this  for  awhile,  till  we  can  find  some  little  place 
of  our  own." 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  said  Annie,  "  would  I  let 
mother  know  of  it.  I  hope  she  has  not  noticed 
it  herself  already.  She  would  sooner  lie  in  this 


78  Annie  Rtilly. 

wood  at  night  than  there,  if  she  once  thought  we 
were  unwelcome." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Annie,"  said  Francis,  after  a  short 
pause,  "  what  I  intend  doing.  Colonel  Saunder- 
son  has  lately  built  a  number  of  small  cottages, 
which  he  intends  filling  with  his  workmen  ;  and  I 
am  thinking  of  seeking  work  at  the  castle  and,  if 
I  obtain  it  and  one  of  those  little  houses,  we  will 
be  somewhat  independent  again." 

"  Ah !  Francis,  that  is  a  good  thought,"  said 
Annie  ;  "  but  I  fear  it  would  break  poor  mother's 
heart  living  amongst  such  people  as  her  neigh 
bors  then  would  be.  And  then,  you  a  workman 
at  the  castle." 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  that,"  said  Francis. 
"  When  mother  reflects,  I  don't  think  she  will 
take  it  so  bad  after  all.  Along  with  what  little 
we  have  got,  I  could  soon  earn  enough  to  bring 
us  to  America.  I  could  not  think  of  leaving 
them,  now  that  they  have  nothing  only  my  exer 
tions  to  rely  on." 

"  Francis,"  said  Annie  earnestly,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  this?  I  cannot  be  of  much  service  to 
you  here — none  at  all,  in  fact;  only  a  burden. 
And  now,  if  you  think  father  could  spare  enough 
to  send  me  to  America  alone,  I  could  earn  enough 
there  to  be  of  great  help  to  you." 

"  Ah !  I  am  afraid  they  would  never  consent  to 


Annie  Reilly.  79 

you  crossing  the  ocean  alone,"  said  Francis. 
"  For  my  part,  I  know  very  well  you  would  suc 
ceed.  I  wish  you  had  thought  of  this  when 
James  O'Rourke  was  going;  but,"  he  added, 
"  you  couldn't  easily  have  done  that.  It  would 
not  have  been  very  pleasant  to  be  under  the  pro 
tection  of  a  man  in  the  danger  poor  James  was  in." 

Francis  felt  the  hand  he  held  in  his  tremble, 
and,  looking  around,  he  saw  Annie  struggling  to 
keep  back  her  tears. 

"  Well,  well,  Annie,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  I 
shouldn't  have  spoken  of  James  to  you  now ;  but 
you  know  he  succeeded  in  getting  off  safely,  so 
that  he  is  now  beyond  danger,  and  you  and  he  may 
meet  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  some  day.  I 
have  it  now,  my  girl,"  and  he  slapped  the  back 
of  her  hand.  "  I  would  bet  a  sovereign,  if  I  had 
it,  that  your  whole  anxiety  to  get  to  America 
is  because  James  O'Rourke  is  there."  And  he 
laughed  and  shook  her  by  the  hair. 

"No,  indeed,  Francis,"  said  she;  "you  do  me 
wrong  there.  I  should  certainly  be  glad  to  meet 
him  or  any  other  friend  in  a  strange  country  ; 
but  my  whole  anxiety  is  to  be  able  to  assist  you 
at  home." 

"I  didn't  doubt  you,  Annie,"  said  he.  "You 
must  pardon  what  I  have  said.  You  are  a  great 
good  girl  and  a  wise  girl —  " 


So  Annie  Reilly. 

"Well,  well,  now,  Francis,"  said  she,  interrupt 
ing  him,  "  mother  will  get  alarmed  if  we  stay  h~re 
much  longer ;  and  so  let  us  decide  on  what  to 
do.  After  what  passed  this  evening,  you  would 
not  ask  your  sister  to  remain  in  that  woman's 
house ;  and  I  beg  of  you  to  help  me  to  make 
father  and  mother  let  me  go.  Mother  will  not 
be  so  hard  to  induce  as  you  think.  Nancy  Brady 
had  a  letter  from  her  daughter  Kitty  a  couple  of 
weeks  ago,  and  showed  it  to  mother.  It  gave  a 
splendid  account  of  New  York,  and  contained 
five  pounds  and  a  promise  of  five  more  before 
the  end  of  summer.  You  know  mother  always 
liked  Kitty,  and  would  not  have  the  least  doubt 
of  anything  she'd  say.  Now,  if  I  got  along  as 
well  as  Kitty,  I  could  have  you  with  me  before 
three  months,  and  surely  both  of  us  could  keep 
the  old  pair  comfortably  at  home  if  they  would 
rather  live  here." 

"  Oh !  Annie,  how  can  I  plead  with  them  to  let 
you  go  away  from  us?  But  sure,  I  see  the  truth 
of  every  word  you  say." 

"  God  bless  you,  Francis  !"  said  she.  "  We  will 
go  back  and  say  no  more  about  it  to-night ;  but 
delay  is  useless,  you  know,  so  we  will  try  them 
to-morrow  evening." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"MY   NATIVE   LAND,  GOOD-NIGHT !" 

— Byron. 

IARRELL  REILLY  and  his  wife  wer« 

a  very  common-sense  couple;  none 
of  those  sentimental  people  who  sit 
down  and  weep  and  mourn  over  mis 
fortune,  and  close  their  eyes  to  every  effort  at 
overcoming  it.  They  saw  something  must  be 
done,  and  done,  quickly  ;  and,  painful  and  dis 
tressing  as  it  was  to  them,  the  plan  for  the  future 
laid  down  by  their  son  and  daughter  met  their 
approval  much  easier  than  the  latter  had  expect 
ed.  Mrs.  Reilly  wept  bitterly  for  some  minutes, 
and  poor  Farrell  wrung  his  hands  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  floor  a  few  times ;  then,  turning  to 
Annie,  who  tried  to  wear  as  cheerful  a  face  as 
she  could,  he  said  : 

"  In  God's  name,  my  child,  I'll  make  nojobjec- 
tion." 

"  Nor  I,  Annie,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  will  be 
seech  Heaven,  night  and  day,  to  watch  over  you, 
and  the  just  and  merciful  God  will  one  day,  I 
hope,  allow  us  to  see  your  face  again." 


82  Annie  Reilly. 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  on  the  incidents  of  the 
few  days  spent  in  Annie's  preparation  for  her 
journey.  She  went  to  confession  to  the  good 
Father  Fitzpatrick,  and  told  him  of  her  intention, 
and  received  his  blessing  and  a  promise  that  he 
would  say  a  Mass  for  her  safety  while  on  the 
wide  ocean. 

The  night  previous  to  her  departure  soon 
came,  and  a  number  of  the  friends  of  the  family 
assembled  at  Maurice  Handley's  to  take  farewell 
of  Annie  and  bid  her  Godspeed  on  her  journey. 
Mrs.  Reilly  was  seated  on  a  chair,  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  watching 
Annie  and  Francis  packing  up  the  little  trunk, 
and  Farrell  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out  on 
the  road,  when  the  first  visitor,  Nancy  Brady, 
called  upon  them.  She  carried  a  small  bundle  in 
her  hand  containing  some  linen  and  worsted,  and 
a  bunch  of  green  shamrock,  which  she  intended 
sending  with  Annie  to  her  daughter  in  America. 
The  brother  and  sister  were  right  glad  to  see  her, 
and  gave  her  a  warm  welcome  ;  for  they  knew  all 
she  had  to  say  in  praise  of  America  would  help 
to  console  their  mother  for  the  evening. 

Nancy  was  a  poor  widow,  and  lived  in  a  small 
cabin  by  the  wayside,  a  little  distance  from  the 
old  home  of  Reilly.  After  the  death  of  her  hus 
band,  and  when  she  was  left  with  her  little  girl 


Annie  Reilly,  83 

in  extreme  poverty,  Farrell  Reilly  had  been  a 
good  friend  to  her,  often  supplying  her  for  months 
with  provisions,  when  otherwise  her  child  and 
herself  might  have  perished  of  want.  It  grieved 
the  poor  old  lady  sorely,  the  misfortune  that  had 
befallen  her  benefactor  and  his  family.  Her 
cabin-door  commanded  a  view  of  the  cottage, 
and,  when  the  family  were  gone,  she  built  up  the 
door  on  that  side,  and  opened  another  on  the  op 
posite  end  of  the  cabin.  The  moment  she  entered 
Handley's  and  saw  Mrs.  Reilly,  she  smiled  as  if 
she  felt  quite  happy,  and,  seating  herself  by  her 
side,  began  to  praise  their  good  wisdom  in  send 
ing  Annie  to  America. 

"  My  poor  daughter,"  she  went  on,  "  that  had 
neither  education  nor  much  ability  of  any  kind, 
see  how  well  she  is  doing.  Since  she  went  to 
America,  I  have  never  known  the  want  of  a  shil 
ling.  And  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Reilly,  the  best 
scholar — as  Mr.  Lacy  often  told  me — at  his  school, 
and  so  smart  in  every  way,  how  is  she  going  to 
get  along?" 

Mrs.  Reilly  said  very  little,  but  let  the  good- 
hearted  creature  talk  on  in  this  strain.  The 
effect  of  what  she  was  saying,  however,  was  not 
lost  on  the  other,  and  she  soon  felt  well  enough 
to  assist  Mrs.  Brady  and  Annie  in  completing 
the  trunk. 


84  Annie  Reilly. 

Amongst  those  who  came  to  bid  the  girl  fare- 
well  were  a  number  of  young  men,  sons  of  the 
neighboring  farmers,  most  of  whom  one  day  in 
tended  taking  the  same  course.  These  fn  par 
ticular  laid  themselves  out  to  enliven  the  party 
and  spend  a  pleasant  night.  Annie's  health  and 
prosperity  were  drunk  a  hundred  times.  Numer 
ous  songs  were  sung,  mostly  patriotic,  or  bearing 
on  the  event  which  assembled  them  together. 

Thus  the  night  passed  away,  and  morning 
came.  None  of  the  family  went  to  sleep  ;  for,  by 
the  time  the  last  of  those  who  were  going  no 
further  than  the  house  had  left,  it  was  time  for 
Annie,  and  those  who  intended  leaving  her  at  the 
railway  station,  to  depart,  too. 

As  the  time  for  her  parting  from  her  daughter 
approached,  Mrs.  Reilly  felt  her  heart  growing 
doubly  sad,  and  she  dreaded  she  would  break 
down  at  the  last  moment.  The  state  of  her 
health  did  not  permit  her  to  leave  the  house 
Nancy  tried  to  engage  her  attention  now  more 
than  ever. 

At  length  Annie  went  into  the  room  to  put 
on  her  hat.  Noticing  this,  her  mother's  face 
grew  deadly  pale,  and  she  nervously  clutched 
Nancy's  hand. 

"  Oh  !  now,  after  bearing  up  so  well  all  night,' 
•<aid  the  latter,  while  her  own  voice  quivered, 


Annie  Reilly.  &5 

"  you  would  not  go  to  break  your  heart  and 
your  child's,  too,  at  the  last  moment.  In  pity  to 
her,  don't  show  such  signs  of  grief.  What  a 
happy  woman  I  would  have  been  to  see  my 
daughter  going  as  Annie  is.  The  morning  she 
left,  not  one  was  in  the  cabin  but  little  Francis — 
he  was  little  then — who  called  in  on  his  way  to- 
school.  And  Annie  this  morning  leaves  you  for 
a  happy  land  with  a  thousand  blessings  on  her 
head."  ' 

Soon  Annie  came  out  from  the  room,  with  her 
neat  black  hat  and  new  cloak  on,  surrounded  by 
a  crowd  of  friends.  How  pretty  she  looked,  the 
paleness  of  her  face  only  serving  to  reveal  more 
clearly  her  finely  arched,  dark  eyebrows  !  Had 
James  O'Rourke  seen  her  at  that  moment,  he 
would  have  loved  her  better  than  ever,  if  love 
could  be  stronger  than  his. 

Farrell  ran  from  the  cottage  like  one  wild  ;  he 
could  not  bear  to  be  present  at  the  parting. 

"  Now  is  the  time  for  your  fortitude  and  charity, 
too,  Mrs.  Reilly,"  whispered  the  old  lady,  as  Annie 
approached. 

"  Just  kiss  your  mother  and  ask  her  blessing, 
and  leave  at  once,  Annie,"  said  Mrs.  Brady.  "  The 
less  time  you  spend  here  now,  the  better  for  both 
of  you." 

The  girl  bent  over  her  mother. 


86  Annie  Reilly. 

"  My  child  !  my  darling !  my  own  Annie !"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Reilly,  "  in  this,  the  saddest  hour  of 
my  life,  I  call  on  God  to  be  just  to  that  man  who 
drove  us  apart  so  soon,  and  sent  you  out  alone  on 
the  world  to-day.  O  Annie  !  if  ever  an  unhappy 
mother  died  of  a  broken,  crushed  heart,  it  will  be 
me  if  anything  befalls  you."  And  mother  and 
daughter  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms.  The 
spectators  turned  away  from  the  heartrending 
scene,  and  a  tear  came  into  every  eye.  "  My 
sweet  child,  my  fond  Annie,  that  was  always 
such  a  loving  daughter  to  us,  it  has  been  a 
source  of  sorrow  to  me  since  I  first  watched  for 
your  footsteps  to  think  I  would  one  day  have  to 
part  from  you  ;  but  I  would  have  lain  cold  in  my 
grave  long  ago  had  I  ever  known  or  thought  you 
would  be  left  a  lone  bird  far  away  from  father, 
mother,  or  brother."  She  sobbed  as  she  pressed 
the  girl  close  to  her  heart. 

"  O  mother!"  said  Annie,  "  my  love  for  you 
will  be  stronger  than  ever  now,  and  will  urge  me 
to  make  every  effort  to  come  to  your  arms  again. 
Give  me  your  blessing,  your  fond  blessing,  and 
neither  of  us  need  fear  anything." 

"  My  blessing,  and  God's  choicest  blessing,  and 
the  blessing  of  all  the  saints  in  heaven  for  ever  be 
with  you,  my  child,"  said  her  mother,  raising  her 
hands.  "  And  that  blessing  I  will  invoke  night 


Annie  Reilly.  87 

and   day   on  your  head   while   God    leaves  me 
life." 

They  held  their  faces  together,  mingling  their 
tears  in  silent,  unutterable  anguish,  till  Mrs.  Brady 
said  softly  in  the  mother's  ear,  "  Mrs.  Reilly,  you 
have  blessed  your  child,  we  have  all  blessed  her ; 
'tis  needless  to  delay  longer.  Your  next  meeting 
will  be  a  happy  one."  And  the  good  woman 
gently  withdrew  the  arms  that  embraced  the  girl, 
and  whispered  her  to  leave  at  once.  After  fer 
vently  kissing  the  cold,  wet  face,  Annie  ran  from 
the  house,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  the  month  of 
August  ;  a  drop  of  dew  glistened  on  every  blade 
of  grass  and  on  every  thorn.  The  webs  of  the  busy 
spider  covered  every  tree  and  shrub,  and  the 
lark's  first  note  of  welcome  to  the  rising  sun  was 
heard  from  the  wood  close  by. 

Farrell  joined  the  group  that  had  followed 
Annie,  and  the  little  crowd  set  out  for  the  neigh 
boring  station  ;  Maurice  had  gone  on  a  little  be 
fore  with  the  trunk,  to  have  it  marked,  and  ready 
when  the  train  would  arrive.  Farrell  intended 
accompanying  her  as  far  as  Queenstown,  but 
Francis  was  to  return  from  the  station  to  his 
mother. 

The  morning  had  passed  away  so  quickly 
that,  just  as  they  came  within  view  of  the  station 


Annie  Reilly. 

the  whistle  of  the  engine  sounded  shrilly  over  a 
hill  close  by,  and  the  next  moment  a  long  line  of 
cars  shot  out  on  the  plain  before  them,  and  swept 
up  to  the  station.  A  delay  of  half  an  hour,  Jiow- 
ever,  would  occur,  and  they  reached  the  platform 
just  as  an  old  priest,  with  long,  white  hair  and- 
bent  figure,  was  giving  his  parting  blessing  to  a 
number  of  emigrants  who  knelt  on  the  platform 
around  him.  Annie  hastily  made  her  way  and 
knelt  down  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  Amongst 
them  were  young  men  and  girls,  married  men  and 
their  wives  and  children.  Even  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers,  who  had  bravely  struggled  for  a 
lifetime  to  live  and  die  in  the  old  land,  knelt 
''there  to  receive  the  last  blessing  from  an  Irish 
priest,  and  then  face  the  wild  Atlantic,  probably 
to  die  of  hardships  by  the  way,  or  lay  their  bones 
to  rest  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  new  land. 

Beneath  the  face  of  God,  there  is  no  sadder  sight 
than  to  witness  those  old,  helpless,  broken-hearted 
creatures,  who  love  their  native  land  next  to  their 
God,  when  every  earthly  hope  has  failed,  gather 
ed  at  the  foot  of  the  saintly  priest,  to  ask  his 
blessing  on  their  flight.  What  hope  they  place 
in  this  last  benediction  in  the  Isle  of  Saints  God 
only  can  tell ! 

A  warning  whistle  announced  to  Annie  and 
the  others  that  it  was  time  to  go  aboard.  She 


Annie  Reilly.  89 

hastily  took  farewell  of  her  friends,  and  having 
affectionately  kissed  her  brother,  and  bade  him 
be  good  and  true  to  their  aged  parents,  and 
have  every  hope  in  her,  hurried  into  the  car,  fol 
lowed  by  her  father. 

Her  brother  and  friends  stood  together  on  the 
platform,  replying .  to  the  white  handkerchief 
which  kept  waving  to  them  from  the  carriage 
window  till  the  train  moved  out  of  sight. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  they  arrived  in 
Queenstown,  and,  as  the  ship  by  which  Annie  in 
tended  going  was  not  expected  in  till  the  following 
morning,  they  sought  a  lodging-house  for  the  night. 
The  lodging-house  was  within  view  of  the  beauti-ful 
harbor,  and  the  young  girl  sat  by  the  window  in 
the  dim  twilight  watching  the  emigrants  clamber 
ing  on  board  a  vessel  which  had  just  arrived  from 
Liverpool.  Farrell  sat  with  his  elbows  resting  on 
a  little  round  table  which  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  eagerly  scanning  an  engraving  of  New 
York  Bay  which  hung  on  the  opposite  wall. 

A  strange  feeling  came  over  Annie.  She  could 
not  take  her  eyes  from  the  ship,  and  she  heartily 
wished  she  had  been  in  time  to  sail  by  it.  Why 
she  felt  thus  she  could  not  tell.  Her  memory 
wandered  to  James  O'Rourke.  What  sort  of 
ship  did  he  cross  over  in  ?  How  did  he  spend  his 
time  aboard,  and  what  kind  of  friends  did  he 


Annie  Reilly. 

make?  Did  he  enliven  them  with  his  flute,  or 
did  he  stand  silently  alone  looking  out  on  the 
wide  waters?  This  latter  she  thought  more 
likely. 

It  grew  dark,  and,  though  she  could  no  longer 
see  those  on  board,  the  tall  mast  and  yard-arms  were 
yet  faintly  visible  through  the  fading  light,  and  she 
could  hear  the  voices  of  the  sailors  as  they  callrrl 
out  to  each  other.  A  light  shone  on  deck.  A 
man  carrying  a  lantern  passed  along  close  by  the 
bulwark,  and  the  reflection  fell  on  the  form  of  a 
man  standing  alone  with  his  arms  folded,  just 
-as  Annie  thought  a  moment  before  James  would 
stand.  She  knew  the  figure.  No  ;  it  could  not 
be  James.  He  had  gone  a  week  ago.  The  man 
looked  down  the  gangway,  and  held  the  light 
before  him.  God  !  if  he  would  only  turn  its  light 
the  other  way.  She  leaned  from  the  window, 
and  strained  her  eyes  almost  to  bursting.  At 
length  the  light  turned  in  the  coveted  direction, 
and  she  saw  the  figure  move  slowly  away.  It 
could  be  no  other.  Yes ;  it  was  no  other  than 
James  O'Rourke.  She  knew  the  form,  the  clothes, 
everything.  Surely  it  was  he.  She  had  pre 
sence  of  mind  enough  not  to  alarm  her  father, 
knowing  how  useless  it  would  be.  She  waited 
and  watched,  in  hopes  to  see  the  light  return 
But,  no ;  the  sky  darkened  for  rain,  and  she  could  nc 


Annie  Reilly.  91 

loi.ger  see  even  the  main-mast ;  still  her  eyes  were 
bent  in  that  direction*.  Soon  the  rain  began  to 
fall.  A  flash  of  lightning  filled  the  room,  fol 
lowed  by  a  crash  of  thunder  that  shook  the  very 
walls.  Annie  seemed  not  to  notice  it.  Another 
flood  of  lightning,  more  terrible  than  the  first,  filled 
the  air  outside,  and,  darting  outwards,  revealed 
the  ship  slowly  moving  out  to  sea. 

Neither  Annie  nor  her  father  slept  much  during 
the  night,  and  both  were  up  early  and  waiting  at 
the  ticket-office  for  the  clerk  to  open.  Farrell 
paid  the  passage-money,  and  gave  her  besides  all 
he  could  possibly  spare,  in  case  she  should  need  it 
when  she  reached  New  York. 

About  noon,  the  noble  ship  came  in  sight,  and 
soon  anchored  in  the  harbor.  The  parting  be 
tween  her  father  and  Annie  was  quite  as  affect 
ing  as  the  morning  one.  Having  her  luggage 
taken  aboard,  she  joined  the  stream  of  human 
cargo  scrambling  and  jostling  each  other  up  the 
ship's  side. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

LIVERPOOL     MAN-CATCHERS     AND     LODGING- 

HOUSES. 

E  shall  now  return  to  James  O'Rourke, 
whom  we  left  in  the  rather  unpleasant 
position  of  bidding  a  hasty  good-by 
to  his  sweetheart,  while  he  dreaded 
every  moment 'the  faithful  upholders  of  justice 
and  fair  play  in  Ireland  would  be  upon  him. 
After  parting  from  Annie,  he  turned  his  steps 
northward,  hoping  to  reach  Dublin  before  the 
authorities  there  could  be  apprised  of  his  flight. 
He  de'emed  it  better  to  take  this  direction,  as  the 
police  would  be  certain  to  warn  their  brothers  at 
Queenstown  to  look  out  for  him.  Neither  did  he 
think  it  prudent  to  travel  by  the  main  roads,  but 
kept  to  the  by-lanes  and  open  country. 

The  short  night  passed  quickly  away,  but,  when 
morning  came, -James  had  left  his  home  a  long 
way  behind,  and  found  himself  in  a  part  of  the 
country  totally  unknown  to  him.  By  making 
enquiries  of  some  laborers  who  were  going  to  their 
toil  at  that  early  hour,  he  found  the  road  to  Dub 
lin  ;  and,  as  his  apprehensions  had  calmed  con- 


Annie  Reilly.  93 

siderably  since  he  left  his  native  county,  he  struck 
boldly  into  the  road,  and  that  evening,  tired  and 
footsore,  reached  the  city.  The  Liverpool  boat 
was  about  to  leave  in  a  few  minutes  after  he 
reached  the  dock,  and,  as  he  did  not  care  to 
delay  in  the  capital,  he  took  passage,  and  was 
soon  out  on  the  Irish  Sea. 

James  and  his  fellow-passengers  had  a  pleasant 
voyage.  The  night  was  calm  and  fine  on  their 
departure,  and  continued  so  till  morning;  when, 
just  as  tall  wreaths  of  smoke  began  to  curl  up 
from  the  houses  along  the  Mersey,  they  reached 
Liverpool.  A  motley  crowd  of  ship-runners  and 
lodging-house  keepers  met  the  passengers  on 
their  landing,  and  surrounded  them  like  a  pack 
of  hungry  wolves  ;  some  crying  out  they  repre 
sented  such  a  ship — "  the  very  best  on  the  ocean  " 
— and  beseeching  all  sensible  passengers  who 
valued  their  health  and  future  prosperity  to  take 
no  other  ;  some  frantically  roaring  out  the  nume 
rous  striking  qualities  of  their  boarding-house  ; 
what  attention — we  don't  doubt  that — what  good 
meals,  what  cleanliness  was  to  be  found  there. 
It  would  be  much  better  for  those  man-catchers, 
-is  they  are  called,  not  to  mention  cleanliness, 
lest  some  inquisitive  emigrant  should  look  at 
their  faces  and  hands,  and  begin  to  reflect,  till, 
seeing  they  told  one  lie,  probably  doubt  all  they 


94  Annie  Reilly. 

had  to  say.  But  shout,  and  yell,  and  declaiir 
they  will,  and  always  give  their  voices  a  little 
higher  pitch  at  the  word  cleanliness.  James,  not 
being  encumbered  with  much  baggage,  escaped 
pretty  well  till  he  reached  the  dock,  where  he 
stood  looking  at  the  scramble,  and  din,  and  noise 
going  on  on  the  gangway  and  around  him.  It 
looked  like  a  fierce  charge  on  a  well-fought  field, 
only  more  terrible  ;  for,  when  a  man  fell  here,  no 
companion  in  swind — in  arms,  bore  him  to  the 
rear. 

The  man-catchers  bore  down  on  the  passen 
gers  as  they  left  the  boat,  the  latter  slowly  but 
steadily  driving  them  back.  Old  scoundrels,  who 
had  made  emigrant-swindling  a  lifelong  business, 
and  were  very  much  attached  to  it  now,  were 
knocked  down  and  walked  over  every  day  by 
their  stronger  competitors  ;  but,  nothing  daunted, 
they  would  be  at  their  post  the  following  morn 
ing  as  determined  as  ever. 

At  length,  when  the  strife  subsided,  and  the  as 
sailants  began  to  carry  off  their  spoils,  in  the  shape 
of  innocent  men,  women,  and  children  who  had 
probably  never  seen  a  city  before,  James,  seeing 
a  man  standing  with  his  back  towards  him,  clad 
in  very  shiny  black,  looking  out  on  the  river, 
made  up  his  mind  to  ask  him  the  way  to  the 
ticket-office.  Thinking  he  must  be  some  distin- 


Annie  Reilly.  95 

guished  personage,  James  approached  respect 
fully,  and  said,  "  Please,  sir,  will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  direct  me  to  the  shipping-office  ?  I 
am  going  to  America." 

The  man  turned  towards  him,  and,  if  James 
O'Rourke  had  been  a  keen  observer,  he  would 
have  seen  at  once  that  a  front  view  of  the  gentle 
man  was  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  appearance 
he  presented  from  behind.  His  face  was  very 
long  and  irregular,  his  mouth  very  wide — much 
wider  than  nature  had  intended  it  should  be,  as 
a  deep,  bluish  scar  on  one  side  added  consider 
ably  to  its  proportions.  His  eyes  were  very  small 
and  round,  and  seemed  determined,  through  time, 
on  making  their  way  through  his  brain  to  the 
other  side.  His  nose  seemed  to  have  met  the 
same  adverse  fate  as  his  mouth.  It  hung  down 
in  a  heavy  red  bunch  in  front,  owing,  we. think, 
to  the  part  nearest  the  eyes  being  completely 
flattened,  probably  by  some  blunt  instrument,  as 
the  doctors  say.  His  forehead — well,  that  very 
important  part  of  his  head  was  concealed  from 
view  by  an  immense  wide-brimmed  hat,  which 
had  once  been  as  shiny  as  his  coat,  but  was  now 
assuming  an  auburn  hue.  He  wore  his  coat 
buttoned  up  close,  a  yellowish  necktie,  but  no 
collar. 

"  My  dear  young  fellow,  hi  shall  be  'appy  to^ 


96  Annie  Reilly. 

direct  you,"  said  he,  turning  to  James,  on  hearing 
his  question.  "  Step  this  'ere  way  a  little."  And 
he  led  him  a  few  yards  further  away  from  the 
boat.  "  Hof  course,  you  want  to  sail  by  the  best 
line?" 

"  Certainly  I  do,  sir,"  said  James,  after  a  little 
hesitation,  "  if  it  does  not  cost  any  more  ;  for,  to 
tell  you  the  truth — " 

"  Not  ha  penny  more  than  the  leakiest  hold 
tub  as  crosses  the  Atlantic.  'Ere  his  the  name 
hof  the  ship  ;  she  sails  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Thank  God  !"  thought  James,  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  spending  so  little  time  in  Liverpool. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  gentleman,  in 
showing  the  notice  to  James,  flaunted  it  a  little 
too  much,  so  that  it  caught  the  eyes  of  a  number 
of  disappointed  man-catchers,  who  were  standing 
here  and  there,  looking  very  rapacious  and  sullen. 
In  a  moment  they  were  upon  them,  pushing  bills 
into  James's  hand,  and  each  begging  of  him  to 
put  no  trust  in  the  others,  but  be  guided  by  him. 
The  old  gentleman  was  pushed  to  the  outside  of 
the  crowd  in  a  moment,  but  his  frantic  warnings 
could  be  heard  above  all.  One  in  his  desperation 
caught  him  by  the  hand,  and  tried  to  pull  it 
•  open,  that  he  might  leave  his  card  there. 

"  Let  me  speak,  for  heaven's  sake,"  said 
James. 


Annie  ReiUy.  97 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir ;  say  whatever  you  have  to 
say,  and  come  on  with  me,"  exclaimed  half  a 
dozen  voices. 

"  I  am  going  with  none  of  you,  blast  you '" 
shouted  James,  dashing  from  their  midst.  "  This 
gentleman,"  pointing  to  the  man  he  had  first 
spoken  to,  "  has  kindly  consented  to  do  all  I 
want  for  me." 

"  All  right,  go  with  him  ;  I  wish  you  luck. 
You'll  not  get  skinned.  Oh  !  no,"  said  the  same 
Voices. 

"  What  do  they  mean  by  attacking  a  person  in 
that  way  ?  "  asked  James  of  the  other,  who  had 
taken  his  arm  to -lead  him  off. 

"  Ho  !  that's  the  way  as  they  do  things  haround 
'ere  hin  general,"  replied  the  other,  pulling  down 
his  tie,  which  in  the  scuffle  had  got  up  around  his 
ears.  "  You're  ha  fort'nate  man  to  miss  'em." 

"  Please  direct  me  to  the  office,"  said  James, 
looking  back  at  the  crowd.  "  I'll  leave  Liverpool 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Ho  !  you  must  not  judge  Liverpool  by  what 
you  see  'ere  this  mornin',"  said  his  companion. 
"  When  you  see  the  place  as  I'll  take  ye  to,  your 
hopinion  of  the  Hinglish  'ill  change  ;  but  we'll 
go  to  the  hoffice  first." 

They  walked  a  long  way  along  the  docks,  his 
companion  still  holding  James  by  the  arm,  and 


98  Annie  Reilly. 

<• 

pointing  out  all  the  places  of  interest  to  stran 
gers — which,  by  the  way,  were  chiefly  high,  Old, 
dirty-looking  stores,  with  broken  doors  and 
windows,  outside  of  which  sat  groups  of  ill- 
clad,  ill-favored  looking  men,  black  with  smoke 
and  grease  ;  and  an  occasional  large  dray,  pulled 
by  huge,  lazy  horses — so  lazy  that  you  would  want 
to  be  close  by  before  knowing  whether  they  were 
moving  or  not — was  also  an  object  of  curiosity  to 
James.  At  length  they  turned  up  a  side  street, 
walking  over  heaps  of  half-naked  women  and  chil 
dren  at  every  step,  till  they  reached  a  somewhat 
neat-looking  building — neat  only  when  contrasted 
with  its  neighbors — and  entered  an  office  on  the 
ground  floor.  The  only  furniture  of  any  kind  it 
contained  was  a  triangular  desk  of  very  doubtful 
material,  and  a  fat,  dull-eyed,  middle-aged  man 
of  undoubted  Saxon  nationality.  He  was  eating 
a  lump  of  cheese,  which  he  held  in  the  palm  of 
his  hand,  and  did  not  seem  to  notice  them  as  they 
entered. 

"The   best-'arted    man   in   the   world,"  whis 
pered  the  guide. 

James  thought,  if  that  were  so,  it  had  very  little 
control  over  his  manner;  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Bluffy  ?"  said  the  other,  ap 
proaching  the  desk.     "  I  'opes  as  yer  well,  sir." 

"  Well  enough,"  was   the  reply.     "  Have  you 


Annie  Reilly,  99 

done  anything  to-day  ?     I  am  afraid  you're  going 
in  the  back  of  the  books  here,  Lantern." 

•'  Why,  'ow  is  that,  Mr.  Bluffy?"  said  that  gen 
tleman,  with  a  rueful  look,  which  was  his  best 
look.  "  Han't  hi  hout  hearly  and  late  a  watch- 
in'  and  a  strivin'  for  this  'ere  company  ?  " 

"  That  may  all  be,"  said  Bluffy,  reaching  for  a 
pint  of  ale  which  a  boy  had  just  entered  with, 
"  but  you  an't  doing  anything." 

Mr.  Bluffy  put  the  measure  to  his  mouth  and 
drained  it  to  the  last  drop,  smacked  his  lips, 
handed  it  back  to  the  boy,  and  added  :  "  There's 
where  the  mistake  comes  in." 

"  Do  you  call  this  'ere  nothin'  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lan 
tern,  pointing  to  James.  "  Hi  took  'im  from 
thirty  on  'em  ;  hi  did  that,  Mr.  Bluffy." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  other,  "  a  bob,  and  no 
more  about  it."  • 

"  Ho  Mr.  Bluffy,  Mr.  Bluffy  !"  And  he  put  an 
old,  torn  red  handkerchief,  which  came  out  of  his 
pocket  like  a  rope,  to  his  eyes.  "  Hi  earns  it  'arc! 
as  hany  man,  hand  why  not  " — a  sob — "  give  me 
the  same  has  hanother  man?  " 

"  You  know  the  rules,"  said  the  other :  "  one 
bob  for  one,  three  bob  for  two,  and  so  forth.5' 

"Them  'ere  rules  is  'ard  on  a  poor  man," 
blubbered  Lantern. 

But    looking    towards    James,    and     noticing 


ioo  Annie  Reilly. 

he  was  not  so  shabbily  clad  as  the  majority 
of  emigrants,  he  brightened  up  a  little,  and: 
approaching  near  to  his  patron,  whispered  a 
word  in  his  ear.  The  latter  let  his  heavy  eyes 
fall  on  James,  and  said  : 

"  All  right,  if  it  can  be  done." 

"  Come  'ere  now,  my  young  friend,"  said  Lan 
tern,  "  hand  get  yer  ticket." 

James  walked  up  to  the  desk. 

"  Give  me  the  money,"  said  the  man  behind  it. 

"  How  much  is  it,  sir  ? "  asked  James  anx 
iously. 

";£5  15^-"  was  the  reply. 

O'Rourke's.  face  flushed  a  little.  "  I  thought,' 
sir,"  he  said,  "  £5  105-.  was  the  highest  rate  of 
passage  ?" 

Bluffy  looked  at  Lantern,  and  the  latter  quickly 
said  :• 

"  The  hextra  vive  bob  his  for  hextra  accom 
modation.  Mr.  Bluffy,  the  best-'arted  man  in 
Hingland,  says  as  'ow  you'll  not  be  treated  like 
hanother  passenger." 

"  Oh!  but  I  am  satisfied  to  rough  it  with  the 
rest,"  said  James.  "  My  funds  are  very  low." 

"  All  right,"  grunted  Bluffy,  "  if  you  want  to 
sleep  up  by  the  engine,  and  have  the  smoke  .and 
dirt  blowing  over  you  every  night."  And  he  be 
gan  to  make  out  the  ticket. 


Annie  Reilly.  101 

"  Young  man,  you're  ha  destroyin'  of  yourself. 
You  may  get  blinded,"  whispered  Lantern,  clutch 
ing  James  by  the  arm.  "  Let  me  hadvise  you, 
has  a  honest  man  as  does  fair  by  'is  fellow-man, 
to  change  your  mind." 

"  I'll  pay  it,  then,"  said  James  ;  "  but  it  seems 
strange  to  charge  more  than  the  advertised  rate." 

"  Your  wisdom  'ill  make  yer  fortin',  young 
man,"  said  Lantern,  not  heeding  the  latter  part 
of  the  other's  remark. 

James  paid  the  money,  and  turned  away  ;  but,  as 
he  did  so,  the  corner  of  his  eye  caught  Mr.  Lan 
tern  picking  up  two  of  the  very  half-crowns  he  had 
paid,  and  thrusting  them  hurriedly  into  his  pocket. 
He  was  about  to  make  some  remark,  but,  thinking 
it  might  be  some  money  due  him  by  the  other, 
he  merely  sighed  and  wished  himself  out  of 
Liverpool. 

Mr.  Lantern  joined  him  outside  the  office,  and 
conducted  him  down  to  the  docks  again,  and 
along  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  just 
come,  then  up  a  very  narrow,  dirty  street,  with 
high,  bare,  miserable-looking  houses  on  each  side, 
which  had  not  received  a  brush  of  whitewash 
or  paint  in  half  a  century,  if  they  ever  received 
one.  The  greater  part  of  these  buildings  were 
eating  and  lodging-houses,  and  the  smell  of  bad 
meat,  rotten  cabbage,  and  garbage  of  every  kind 


iO2  Annie  Reilly. 

which  they  sent  into  the  street  made  the  atmo 
sphere  well-nigh  intolerable.  At  length  Mr.  Lan 
tern  stopped  at  one  of  the  most  ill-looking  places 
they  had  met,  with  an  old  weather-beaten  sign 
over  the  door,  on  which  was  scrawled,  in  almost 
unintelligible  letters,  "Lodging  and  Entertain 
ment." 

"  This  is  the  'ouse  where  you'll  be  comfortable 
till  mornin',"  said  Lantern.  "  Come  halong,  sir." 

James  followed  him,  and,  as  he  entered  the 
door,  the  abominable  smell  that  filled  the  place 
was  ten  times  worse  than  that  in  the  street.  A 
small  door  just  inside  the  entrance  opened  in  a 
very  dark  little  room  which  fronted  on  the  street. 
This  room,  like  its  brothers  in  every  house  in 
that  street,  had  its  window  continually  closed 
with  half-rotten,  whitish  shutters ;  and  as  these 
managed  to  keep  together,  the  room  was 
left  all  day,  at  any  rate,  without  a  single  ray 
of  light.  Its  door  was  standing  ajar  as  James 
passed,  and,  happening  to  look  that  way,  the 
thick  darkness,  with  here  and  there  the  back 
of  an  old  white  chair  dimly  visible,  like  a  shy 
ghost,  made  him  hurry  after  his  guide  into  the 
room  directly  behind  this  one.  This  latter  was 
the  principal  apartment  of  the  establishment. 
Though  small  in  size,  it  served  as  kitchen,  din 
ing-room,  laundry,  smoking-room,  gambling-room, 


Annie  Reilly.  103 

and,  in  short,  every  purpose  for  which  any  room 
could  be  used. 

The  only  persons  within  when  they  entered 
were  an  old,  very  ugly  woman,  with  a  large,  full, 
iron-gray  face  studded  over  with  numerous  small 
projections,  out  of  which  grew  several  long  hairs 
corresponding  in  color  with  her  face,  and  a  young, 
fat,  sullen-looking  girl,  who  sat  so  close  to  the 
fire  that  her  face  shone  again.  The  former  sat  in 
the  window-sill,  peeling  potatoes  with  the  blade 
of  an  old  razor  set  in  a  piece  of  wood,  and,  as  she 
finished  a  potato,  she  threw  the  skins  through  a 
broken  pane  into — God  knows  where — outside. 
The  other,  who  looked  decidedly  lazy,  now  and 
then  took  hold  of  a  long  stick,  black  from  grease 
and  dirt,  which  stood  in  a  large  pot  of  soup  on 
the  fire,  and  stirred  it  round  and  round. 

The  old  lady's  face  we  do  not  think  could 
assume  a  cheerful  expression  on  any  occasion ;  so 
that  there  may  not  be  much  in  saying  she 
frowned  as  Mr.  Lantern  went  over  to  her.  But 
it  was  such  a  wicked,  scornful  frown,  and  her  eye.s 
flashed  so,  surely  he  must  be  no  favorite  of  hers. 

"  'E  wants  to  lodge  'ere  to-night,  Mrs.  Vitles. 
Hi  brought  'im  'ere." 

Mrs.  Witles  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side 
a  few  times,  and  resumed  her  work  without  mak 
ing  any  reply.  Mr.  Lantern  looked  around,  and 


IO4  Annie  Reilly. 

the  top  of  his  nose  grew  redder  as  he  saw  that 
James  noticed  his  reception.  He  turned  to  Mrs. 
Witles  again,  and  stood  with  his  .knees  together, 
not  venturing  to  say  a  word. 

"  Veil,"  said  she  at  length,  throwing  down  the 
knife,  but  without  raising  her  eyes.  "  Veil." 

"  Hi  brought  a  lodger  to  yer,  Mrs.  Vitles,"  said 
Lantern  feebly. 

"  Veil,  you  know  'e  can  stay.  Vere's  yer  use 
in  tellin'  me  ?  Do  yer  see  any  sign  on  'im  runnin' 
away  ?" 

"  Hi — yer  know  the  reason  I  tell  ye,  Mrs. 
Vitles,"  said  he,  with  a  mean  leer,  and  backing 
further  away. 

"  Wery  well  I  do,"  said  she,  in  a  loud  voice  ; 
"  but  do  ye  expect  me  to  pay  ye  afore  I  knows 
'ow  much  I'm  a  goin'  to  make  meself  ?" 

Lantern  cast  a  wistful  look  at  the  soup,  which 
Mrs.  Witles  at  once  interpreted ;  for  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Hi'll  be  blowed  if  I  do.  Leave  'ere,  now." 
And  she  snatched  the  stick  from  the  soup-pot. 
"  Go,  now,"  continued  she,  advancing  threaten 
ingly  upon  him.  "  You're  more  'arm  than  good  to 
any  place  as  lets  you  in  on  'em.  Make  tracks,  now." 

And  as  the  worthy  gentleman  backed  into  the 
hall,  she  slammed  the  door  so  quickly  that  it  was 
a  miracle  his  nose  escaped. 


Annie  Reilly.  105 

James  sat  for  a  time,  oppressed  by  the  heat 
and  smell  of  the  place,  and  by  his  own  troubled 
mind  ;  for,  now  that  he  was  alone — we  may  say  so, 
for  neither  of  the  women  addressed  a  word  to 
him  or  even  looked  towards  him — the  unhappy 
state  of  his  father  at  home,  and  sorrow  and 
anxiety  after  Annie,  crowded  on  his  mind.  So 
much  did  these  thoughts  weigh  upon  him  that 
he  forgot  his  own  unhappy  circumstances  and  un 
certain  future,  and  even  where  he  was,  till  the 
noise  of  heavy  footsteps  outside  in  the  hall  roused 
him.  The  door  was  burst  open,  and  a  motley 
crowd  of  coal-heavers,  sailors,  old  pensioners, 
browned  with  the  sun  of  India,  thimble-riggers, 
trick-o'-the-loop  men,  ballad-singers,  and,  in  short. 
a  sample  of  all  the  lower  grades  of  the'  city 
crowded  into  the  room. 

James  looked  up  and  saw  dinner  was  already  on 
the  table,  and  Mrs.  Witles  busily  engaged  filling 
a  row  of  wooden  bowls  with  soup,  cabbage,  po 
tatoes,  and  loathsome-looking,  lumps  of  fat  which 
the  young  woman  was  lifting  from  the  bottom  of 
the  pot  with  her  fingers. 

The  men,  such  of  them  as  could,  climbed  over 
the  high  form  which  surrounded  the  table,  and, 
resting  their  elbows  thereon,  began  to  eat  like 
wolves.  Many  of  the  old  soldiers  and  sailors,  who 
were  disabled  so  badly  in  upholding  the  majesty 


io6  Annie  Reilly. 

of  England  that  any  future  attempt  of  theirs  at 
stepping  over  a  form  must  be  hopeless,  sat  down 
with  their  backs  to  the  table,  and  such  of  them  as 
had  two  hands  held  the  bowl  in  one  of  them  ; 
but  others,  who  were  not  blessed  with  that  num 
ber,  held  it  between  their  knees  ;  and  a  few  who, 
happened  to  want  hands  and  knees  both,  sat  down 
on  the  floor  and  ate  like  animals. 

James  looked  on  in  amazement  at  the  hideous 

sight,  and  made  no  attempt  to  join  them,  till  Mrs. 

Wittles,  when  the  meal  was  almost  over  and  some 

*of  the  guests  straggling  out,  said,  looking  sharply 

at  him : 

"  Fall  hin,  young  man,  of  you'll  be  too  late." 

"With  your  leave,  madam,"  replied  he,  "I 
would  rather  wait  a  little." 

The  poor  fellow  could  no  more  eat  with  such  a 
party  than  he  could  fly. 

"  Hi  wouldn't  keep  my  table  set  hafter  the  reg- 
'lar  hour  for  the  queen  'erself,  if  she  was  'ere," 
said  Mrs.  Witles,  snatching  a  lump  of  meat  from 
before  a  lean  old  pensioner,  which  the  latter  had 
stolen  from  the  pot  while  her  back  was  turned. 

James  moved  over  to  the  table,  and,  the  bowl 
being  set  before  him,  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  a  sailor  opposite, 
who  was  licking  the  inside  of  his  bowl  like  a 
dog.  Mrs.  Witles's  plan  for  the  dinner-hour  was  a 


Annie  Reilly.  107 

very  good  one  for  herself.  As  soon  as  she  saw  a 
boarder  had  his  bowl  emptied,  she  immediately 
ordered  him,  with  a  shake  of  the  soup-stick,  to 
leave,  thereby  preventing  the  possibility  of  giving 
him  a  second  round.  This,  too,  helped  James  to 
get  rid  of  the  disgusting  fellow  across  the  table 
much  sooner  than  otherwise  might  have  hap 
pened  :  for  Mrs.  Witles's  quick  eye  alighting  on 
him,  she  ordered  him,  with  sundry  choice  epithets, 
to  go  before  he'd  "  eat  the  bowl." 

James  tasted  a  little  of  the  soup,  but  no 
thing  else.  He  went  into  the  street,  and  wan 
dered  down  as  far  as  the  docks  again,  tak 
ing  a  mental  note  of  everything  of  remark 
he  passed,  that  he  might  not  lose  his  way  com 
ing  back.  He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
quay,  and  watched  the  men  loading  and  unload 
ing  the  ships,  and  saw  several  going  out  to  sea, 
some  for  China  and  Japan  and  other  far  distant 
places.  A  number  of  vessels,  too,  arrived  during 
the  evening,  and,  as  he  saw  the  passengers  coming 
ashore,  wondered  what  kind  of  country  they  came 
from,  what  sort  of  cities  and  people  did  it  con 
tain,  or  were  they  as  dirty  as  Liverpool. 

He  remained  there  till  it  began  to  grow  dark 
and  a  few  of  the  lamps  around  him  were  lighted, 
when  he  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  lodging- 
house. 


1 08  A  nnie  •  Reilfy. 

If  the  streets  presented  a  wretched  appear, 
ance  in  daytime,  they  looked  doubly  so  at 
night.  They  were  literally  filled  with  poverty 
and  vice  of  the.  very  worst  kind.  Beggars  with 
awful-looking  sores  stood  or  lay  in  knots  around 
the  lamp-posts,  frantically  telling  the  wretched 
passers-by  of  their  sufferings  and  pain.  A  blind 
or  disabled  musician  of  some  kind,  clad  in  rags, 
scraped  or  thumbed  a  miserable  instrument  be 
fore-  nearly  every  door.  Drunken  men  and  wo 
men  rushed  into  the  streets  with  yells,  curses,  and 
shouts  of  obscenity,  occasionally  stopping  for  a 
moment  to  dance  to  the  wretched  music,  then 
hurrying  on,  trampling  over  the  children  and 
helpless. 

Bad  as  his  lodging-house  was  within,  it  was 
some  relief  to  James  to  escape  from  such  a  scene. 
None  of  the  other  boarders  had  returned,  and  he 
requested  to  be  shown  to  his  bed.  Mrs.  Witles 
handed  him  a  candle,  and,  pointing  up  the  dingy 
old  stairs,  told  him  to  push  open  the  door  of  the 
first  room  he  met,  and  lie  down  on  any  bed  he 
chose.  Of  beds  he  had  a  noble  choice.  The 
room,  which,  by  the  way,  was  the  entire  floor, 
was  so  closely  packed  with  beds  that  no  one 
might  attempt  to  walk  from  one  side  of  the  apart 
ment  to  the  other,  except  he  stepped  from  bed 
to  bed.  James  held  the  candle  down  between 


Annie  Reilly.  109 

two  beds,  that  he  might  see  the  floor ;  this  was 
no  easy  task  either,  for  it  was  covered  to  the 
depth  of  a  couple  of  inches  with  dust  and  other 
dirt,  all  of  which  did  not  belong  to  the  inanimate 
kingdom.  He  raised  the  candle  and  looked 
around  the  room,  on  the  green  and  black  walls, 
down  which  the  rain  had  poured  for  years  and 
years ;  and  from  the  quantity  of  cobwebs  which 
covered  the  ceiling — what  of  it  remained — and 
the  angles  of  the  room,  it  was  evident  Mrs.  Wit- 
les  made  very  little  use  of  her  broom. 

James,  being  very  much  exhausted  from  hard 
ship  and  long  want  of  sleep,  selected  a  bed  on 
the  outer  row,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  not  been 
occupied  for  some  time,  lay  down  on  its  edge, 
and  soon  fell  asleep.  How  long  he  slept  he  knew 
not,  till  he  was  aroused  by  the  noise  of  voices 
around  him — loud,  coarse  voices — and,  looking 
up,  saw  the  same  group  he  had  met  at  din 
ner  ;  some  walking  over  the  beds  to  reach  their 
own  on  the  far  side,  others  crowding  in  at  the 
door,  and  one  and  all  in  an  advanced  stage  of  in 
toxication. 

Some  were  pale,  sick,  and  sad  ;  others  were 
sentimental,  who  wept  to  themselves  over  past 
attachments  in  their  own  and  other  lands  ;  a  few 
were  belligerent,  and,  assuming  numerous  fight 
ing  attitudes,  boasted  they  were  afraid  of  no  man 


no  Annie  Reilly. 

in  '•'  Hingland,  without  reference  to  the  present 
company  "  ;  and  the  old  soldier  from  whom  Mrs. 
Witles  snatched  the  lump  of  fat  stood  up  on  his 
bed,  and  screamed  in  a  dismal,  broken  voice  a 
verse  of  "Rule,  Britannia!"  By-and-by,  all  fell 
here  and  there  on  the  beds,  in  different  positions, 
and  went  to  sleep.  But  so  stifling  was  the  atmo 
sphere  from  the  fumes  of  bad  whisky  that  James 
went  out  on  the  landing,  where  he  remained  till 
daylight. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Witles  appeared,  he  paid  her 
the  amount  of  his  bill,  and  went  down  to  the 
docks  to  wait  till  the  time  for  going  aboard  would 
arrive.  Soon  other  emigrants,  with  packages  and 
bundles  of  all  kinds,  began  to  assemble  at  the 
quay,  and  James  went  amongst  such  of  them  as 
he  knew  were  from  Ireland,  and  talked  with  them 
till  the  hour  for  starting  came. 

About  mid-day,  the  ship  weighed  anchor,  and 
steamed  "down  the  Mersey.  James  O'Rourke  was 
not  much  of  a  philosopher;  but,  as  he  stood  on 
deck,  looking  at  the  noble  buildings  which  rose 
here  and  there  on  the  Cheshire  coast,  and  thought 
of  what  he  had  witnessed  in  Liverpool,  he  could 
not  help  thinking  that  a  nation  composed  of  two 
such  extremes  must  one  day  break  in  the  centre. 

The  passage  down  the  Irish  Sea  was  beautiful. 
James  waited  with  great  anxiety  for  their  arrival 


Annie  Reilly.  in 

• 

at  Queenstown,  that  he  might,  probably  for  the 
last  time,  feast  his  eyes  on  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  his  native  land.  But  to  his  great  mortifica 
tion,  it  was  almost  dark  night  when  they  entered 
the  harbor.  The  day,  even  at  sea,  had  been  very 
warm,  and  with  evening  came  lowering  clouds 
and  other  signs  of  a  storm.  For  a  time,  he  stood 
on  deck  looking  at  the  row  of  lights  along  the 
harbor,  thinking  of  home  and  the  base  villany 
that  had  driven  him  thence  ;  of  Annie — what  was 
she  doing  now  ?  This  was  about  the  time  they 
used  to  meet  on  the  river's  bank.  Did  she  go 
there  alone  now,  and  sit  and  think  of  him,  and 
remember  him  in  her  prayers,  as  she  had  promised 
to  do  ?  Was  it  beyond  hope  that  they  would 
ever  meet  again  ? 

This  thought  sickened  his  heart  so  much  that 
he  leaned  against  the  cabin-door,  and  turned  his 
eyes  away  from  the  coast.  A  gruff  officer,  carry 
ing  a  light,  passed  down  the  deck,  and  ordered 
him  "to. stand  some  place  else."  He  went  down 
to  his  berth,  and,  throwing  himself  on  his  face. 
wept  ti  the  ship  was  far  out  to  sea. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
JAMES  O'ROURKE'S  FIRST  DAY  IN  NEW  YORK. 

— A   FRAUD   AND   A   FRIEND. 

|FTER  a  comparatively  safe  and  speedy 
passage,  James  O'Rourke  reached 
New  York.  It  was  one  of  those 
mellow  days  in  the  early  fall  when 
everything  looks  so  serene  and  calm  that  the 
anxious  passengers  were  landed.  How  beautiful 
New  York  Harbor  looked !  The  waters  seemed 
asleep  on  the  bosom  of  the  bay,  save  where  dis 
turbed  by  the  lively  ferry-boats  ploughing  their 
way  backwards  and  forwards  in  every  direction, 
and  the  little  snorting  tugs,  puffing  in  and  out 
here  and  there,  busy  as  bees  of  a  June  morning. 
A  number  of  large,  majestic-looking  ships,  that 
had  just  come  in  from  all  ports  of  the  world,  lay 
out  in  the  stream,  looking  weary  after  their  long 
voyage. 

It  being  early  day,  the  passengers  were  not 
delayed  at  Castle  Garden  overnight,  except  such 
as  chose  to  wait  for  friends  who  were  expecting 
them.  James  had  no  friends,  and  he  walked  into 
the  streets  and  up  along  Broadway,  wondering  at 


Annie  Reilly.  113 

the  size,  and  beauty,  and  cheerful  look  of  the 
buildings  along  that  noble  thoroughfare.  It  was 
at  the  time  of  day  when  Broadway  is  at  its  live 
liest,  lined  with  wagons,  carriages,  carts,  and 
drays,  and  the  sidewalk  so  crowded  with  people 
hurrying  along  that  it  is  impossible  for  any  of 
them  to  make  much  speed.  James  walked  on — 
he  knew  not  where — looking  on  himself  as  the 
most  lonely  and  friendless  of  the  great  throng. 
At  length  he  came  to  what  seemed  to  him  a 
neglected  waste  of  ground,  which,  having  mor 
tally  offended  the  city  in  some  way,  was  left  be 
hind,  forgotten,  haggard,  and  cheerless.  Near 
the  centre  of  this  waste  stood  a  large  building  in 
a  half-finished  state,  looking  so  dreary  that  the 
ill  fate  of  the  neighborhood  seemed  to  have 
visited  it  at  last. 

A  number  of  men  were  standing  around  the 
doors  or  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  building,  and 
all  looking  so  much  like  men  that  had  nothing  to 
do,  that  James  thought  it  might  not  inconveni 
ence  any  of  them  much  to  tell  him  where  he 
might  find  work.  So  approaching  a  gentleman 
with  a  wide-leafed  straw  hat,  a  tight-fitting  coat, 
much  too  short  for  him,  and  very  long,  wide 
pantaloons,  who  stood  on  the  end  of  a  row  pick 
ing  his  teeth,  James  asked  : 


114  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Please,  sir,  can  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find 
employment  ?  I  am  a  stranger  here." 

"  Most  undoubtedly,  sir;  follow  me,"  said  the 
gentleman,  putting  his  tooth-pick  in  his  vest 
pocket.  "  Come  along,  sir." 

James,  delighted  beyond  measure  at  this  sud 
den  good  luck,  hurried  after  his  new  friend,  but 
found  it  no  very  easy  task  to  keep  up  with  him. 
He  had  such  a  happy  method  of  diving  past 
crowds  which  jostled  against  the  other  that  he 
had  once  or  twice  to  wait  for  him  on  the  corner. 
At  length  the  gentleman  swept  into  a  low,  narrow 
door  in  one  of  the  side  streets,  and  when  James 
rushed  in  after  him,  he  found  him  seated  behind  a 
neat  little  desk,  looking  as  composed  as  if  he  had 
been  sitting  there  since  morning. 

"  So  you  want  employment,  do  you  ?"  said  he, 
surveying  James  from  head  to  foot. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  latter. 

"  What  kind  do  you  prefer?''  said  he.  opening 
a  book  which  lay  on  the  desk  before  him.  "  We 
have  a  variety." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  James  with  a  smile,  "  I  am 
not  afraid  of  any  kind  of  work,  but  would  of 
course  preter  whichever  pays  best. ' 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  other,  closing  his  eyes 
and  resting  his  chin  on  his  hand,  "  let  me  see.  You 
are  strong  enough  to  work  in  a  dry-goods  store  ?" 


Annie  Reilly.  115 

"You  mean,  sir — " 

"  I  mean  what  you  call  a  cloth-shop  in  the  Old 
Country." 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir/'  said  James. 
greatly  elated.  "  Certainly  I  am,  sir." 

"  You  landed  this  morning,  eh?"  said  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"This  morning,  sir?" 

"  Any  friends  in  New  York  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"All  alone,  eh?" 

"  Quite  so,  sir." 

"  Well,  now,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  You 
give  me  three  dollars,  and  I'll  send  you  right  up 
to  the  establishment." 

James  felt  greatly  surprised  at  this,  for  he 
really  thought  the  gentleman  was  an  extensive 
employer  himself.  He  had  never  heard  of  an 
"  intelligence  office,"  and  was  quite  at  a  loss 
what  to  think.  He  couldn't  be  a  swindler,  .hav 
ing  such  a  handsome  place. 

"  No ;  he  must  be  an  employer,  and  probably 
wants  this  money  as  security  for  a  day  or  two,  till 
he  sees  how  I  get  on,"  thought  James. 

And  looking  at  the  gentleman  again,  and  see 
ing  him  busy  writing,  and  apparently  utterly 
oblivious  of  his  presence,  was  confirmed  in  this 
latter  idea. 


u6  Annie  Reilly, 

"  I'll  pay  the  money,  sir,"  said  he,  taking  from 
his  pocket  a  few  shillings  and  one  half-crown, 
which  was  his  entire  store. 

The  gentleman  thought  it  most  remarkable,  but 
nevertheless  it  was  true,  that  the  coins  when 
changed  into  dollars  amounted  to  just  the  re 
quired  number  and  ten  cents  over.  So  he  swept 
it  into  a  drawer,  and,  throwing  a  ten-cent  stamp 
on  the  desk,  drew  a  piece  of  paper  to  him,  and, 
having  written  a  few  words  on  it  with  violet  ink, 
handed  it  to  James.  The  latter  glanced  at  it 
and  said  : 

"  What  way  am  I  to  go  there,  sir?" 

"  You  see  I  am  so  busy,  or  I  would  ta"ke  you 
up  myself.  But,  anyway,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
cross  over  five  blocks  to  your  right,  then  down  a 
long  street  you'll  see  with*i  marble  building  on 
the  up-town  corner,  then  one  block  to  your  right, 
then  take  the  cars — you  know  the  street-cars — 
and  ride  eleven  blocks  more,  and  any  one  can 
point  out  Van  Sleuthers  &  Duckey's  dry-goods 
store  to  you.  Go  inside,  and  show  them  that  ad 
dress,  and  you're  all  right." 

James  thanked  him,  left  the  office,  and  went  in 
search  of  Van  Sleuthers  &  Duckey's. 

That  he  did  not  find  it,  and  that  there  was  no 
such  firm  in  the  city,  it  is  needless  to  say.  He 
had  been  swindled  out  of  the  last  penny  by  an 


Annie  Rtilly.  117 

"  intelligence  agent  "  ;  and  after  travelling  up  and 
down  the  streets,  looking  at  every  sign,  stop 
ping  to  make  enquiries  at  every  clothing  estab 
lishment,  he  found  himself  at  nightfall  close  by 
the  East  River,  footsore,  weary,  and  dejected. 
He  sat  down  on  a  log  on  one  of  the  docks,  and, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  began  to  think 
over  his  forlorn,  desolate  state. 

In  a  large  city,  without  a  friend,  without  one 
face  he  had  ever  known,  without  a  single  penny 
in  his  pocket.  Where  to  spend  the  night  or  get 
a  morsel  to  eat  he  knew  not  ;  he  had  spent  the 
ten  cents  riding  up  and  down  in  search  of 
Van  Sleuthers  &  Duckey's.  He  sat  a  prey  to 
these  thoughts  for  some  time,  ti  11,  raising  his  head, 
he  saw  coming  leisurely  towards  him,  from  the 
direction  of  the  street;  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
smoking  a  large  briar-wood  pipe. 

As  he  approached,  James  could  see  he  was  of 
his  own  race,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to 
him.  This  was  no  difficult  matter,  for  the  stranger 
came  on,  puffing  like  an  engine,  and,  sitting 
down  beside  him,  remarked  it  was  a  fine  night. 

O'Rourke  saw  at  once,  from  his  large,  rough 
hands,  that  he  belonged  to  the  working-class,  arid, 
observing  his  neat  white  shirt  and  black  tie,  and 
everything  he  wore  so  clean,  thought  of  the 


!i8  Annie  Reilly. 

miserable  appearance  of  the  English  working- 
men. 

"  You're  not  long  out  from  the  ould  counthry, 
I  think,"  said  he  kindly. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  James.  "  I  came  ashore  this 
morning.'' 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  man,  moving  close  to 
him,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  any  one  so  late  from  the 
ould  dart.  How  is  things  there  now ;  anything 
better?" 

"  Oh  !  much  the  same  as  usual,"  replied  James. 
"  Improvements  come  very  slowly  in  Ireland." 

"That's  so,  that's  so,  me  friend,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  sigh.  "  But  the  people  an't  starv 
ing  as  they  wor  when  I  left  there  ?" 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that  now,"  said  James. 

"  Do  you  live  around  here  ?"  asked  the  stranger, 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  have  no  home,"  said  James,  drawing  back 
his  head  a  little. 

"  No  home,"  said  the  other,  "and  a  greenhorn  ; 
why,  that's  rough.  I  suppose  be  that  ye  mane 
you  haven't  got  any  money  neither." 

"  Not  a  penny."  was  the  reply. 

Then  James  told  him  how  he  had  been  cheated 
by  the  intelligence  agent. 

"You're  not  the  first  who  has  been  fleeced  by 
thim  robbers,"  said  the  other  in  a  rage.  "  They 


Annie  Reilly.  119 

swindle  dozens  of  poor  innocent  people  every 
day,  and  you'll  niver  hear  of  one  of  thim  bein' 
arristed.  But,"  added  he,  checking  himself,  "  it 
can't  be  helped  now,  and  I'll  niver  see  one  of  my 
countrymen  that  desarves  it  out  in  the  streets 
at  night  while  I  have  a  room  ;  so  you  must  come 
wid  me  to-night.  The  ould  woman  'ill  find  some 
place  for  you  to  sleep." 

James  thanked  him  again  and  again,  and,  after 
enjoying  a  smoke  from  his  pipe,  they  walked  up  the 
dock  and  along  the  street  a  little  way,  till  they 
came  to  a  somewhat  neat-looking  brick  house 
with  a  wooden  stoop.  The  man  entered,  and 
both  went  up  a  flight  of  very  clean  but  carpetless 
stairs  to  the  third  -story,  and,  turning  the  knob 
of  the  door,  entered  a  tidily  furnished  room  of 
comfortable  dimensions.  Over  the  wooden  man 
tel-piece  hung  a  handsome  engraving  of  Arch 
bishop  Hughes,  side  by  side  with  another  of  St. 
Patrick,  and  on  the  opposite  wall  hung  a  picture 
of  Killarney  Lakes.  Several  other  pictures,  some 
of  Irish  clergy,  some  of  American,  were  fastened 
round  the  walls,  all  very  tastefully  arranged. 

There  was  no  person  in  the  room  on  their 
entrance,  and  the  man,  seeing  James  look  closely 
at  the  archbishop's  likeness,  began  to  tell  nu 
merous  stories  of  his  kindness  and  benevolence. 
After  some  time,  a  woman  came  in,  carrying  a 


I2O  Annie  Reilly. 

basket  on  her  arm  ;  and  from  the  appearance  of 
her  face,  and  the  trim,  cleanly  way  in  which  she 
was  clad,  James  knew  at  once  whose  taste  had 
arranged  the  room. 

"  Well,  well,  Terence,  and  what  a  man  you  are," 
said  she,  laying  down  the  basket,  and  looking  at 
her  husband  with  a  smile,  "  to  leave  housekeeping." 

"  Oh !  in  troth,  I  was  afraid  she'd  begin  to 
screech  whin  ye'd  be  gone,  Bridget,  so  I  left  her 
inside  with  Mrs.  Kearney.  She  stays  as  quiet 
wid  her  as  v/id  yourself,"  said  her  husband. 

"  Oh  !  just  so  ;  anything  to  get  rid  of  the  job. 
But  keep  quiet  now  ;  she's  asleep  in  Mrs.  Kear 
ney's  arms,  and  I'll  bring  her  in  and  put  her  in 
the  cradle." 

The  woman  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned, 
carrying  in  her  arms  a  little  babe  of  a  few  months 
old,  and',  shaking  her  hand  at  her  husband  to  say 
nothing,  lest  he  should  rouse  the  infant,  went 
through  the  passage-way  into  another  room. 

The  man  conversed  with  James  for  awhile, 
then,  telling  him  he'd  be  back  in  a  moment,  fol 
lowed  his  wife.  Both  soon  returned,  and  James 
could  see  from  the  kind,  sympathetic  look  the 
woman  gave  him  that  her  husband  had  been  tell 
ing  his  story. 

;' Excuse  me,"  said  the  man,  "but  ye  haven't 
tould  me  yer  name." 


Annie  Reilly.  121 

James  told  him. 

"  In  troth,  and  a  good  name  it  is.  My  own  is 
Terence  McManus,  and  this  is  Mrs.  McManus, 
and  that  sleepy  youngster  ye  seen  a  minute  ago 
is  Mary  McManus.  So  we  know  each  other  all 
roun'  now,  and  are  quite  at  our  aise." 

The  agreeable,  honest,  good-natured  manner 
of  the  man  did  make  James  feel  much  easier  in 
mind  than  he  had  felt  for  some  time.  Mrs. 
McManus  prepared  a  good  meal,  of  which  all 
three  partook.  This  over,  they  sat  together,  and 
talked  over  matters  in  the  old  and  new  country, 
One  important  point  to  James  came  out  from  this 
conversation,  and  that  was  he  learned  that  his 
host,  who  worked  along  the  docks,  being  what  is 
commonly  called  a  'longshoreman,  would  find  him 
employment  at  the  same  business  the  following 
day. 


CHAPTER   Xlll. 

ANNIE'S      VOYAGE. — HOW      EMIGRANTS     ARL 
TREATED  ON  SHIPBOARD. 

[URING  the  first  three  days  out,  Annie 
was  very  sea-sick,  and  unable  to  come 
on  deck.  So  much  did  she  suffer  from 
this  distressing  illness  and  her  own 
grief  of  mind  that  she  hardly  cared  whether  the 
ship  sank  or  not.  At  times  during  these  days, 
she  thought  she  would  surely  have  died  were  it 
not  for  the  kindness  and  attention  shown  her  by 
a  young  woman  from  Dublin,  who  was  going  out 
to  meet  her  husband  in  the  West.  Though 
greatly  burdened  with  her  little  son,  who  con 
tinued  ill  all  the  way,  she  spent  every  moment 
she  could  with  Annie,  getting  up  at  least  a  dozen 
times  during  the  night  to  see  how  she  felt ;  often 
going  to  the  doctor  to  tell  him  of  her  state,  and 
beg  him  to  send  her  some  relief,  and  almost  as 
often  getting  rudely  repulsed. 

Of  all  the  sinecures  on  land  or  sea,  that  of  ship 
doctor,  as  far  as  the  poor  steerage  passengers  are 
concerned,  is  the  most  idle.  A  ship  doctor  is 
generally  a  very  stylish  gentleman — a  snob — who 


Annie  Reilly.  123 

knows  far  more  about  the  fashions  than  about 
medicine,  and  thinks  all  that  is  required  of  him 
is  to  strut  the  deck,  and  laugh  and  chat  with  the 
cabin  passengers.  Those  in  the  steerage  are  so 
much  beneath  his  notice  that  nothing  can  induce 
him  to  go  below,  even  if  a  life  depended  on  the 
very  act.  He  may,  if  caught  in  the  humor,  conde 
scend  to  order  a  poor  sufferer  some  medicine  on 
the  report  of  the  steward — a  gentleman  generally 
as  ignorant  in  cases  of  sickness  as  himself. 

What  drug  the  model  M.D.  on  this  occasion  sent 
Annie  she  would  not  venture  to  touch,  and  this 
probably  accounted  for  her  being  able  to  go  on 
deck  the  following  morning  in  company  with  her 
kind  friend. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  at  sea.  The  sun 
shone  bright  and  soft  on  the  waste  of  calm  water, 
and  the  ship  was  making  rapid  headway.  Annie 
and  her  friend,  Mrs.  Duffy,  sat  down  on  deck 
close  by  the  bulwark.  The  deck  was  literally 
swarming  with  men,  women,  and  children  from 
every  country  in  Europe,  every  nationality  keep 
ing  in  little  groups  by  themselves.  Englishmen, 
with  long  side-whiskers,  short  coats,  and  moist 
eyes,  stood  or  lay  together  in  knots,  sometimes 
silent  and  sad,  and  occasionally  talking  in  low 
murmuring  accents  ;  Irishmen,  stout,  hearty,  and 
pleasant,  smoked,  chatted,  laughed  together 


124  Annie  Reilly. 

and  seemed  to  take  more  notice  of  what  was 
going  on  around  them  than  any  other  peo 
ple  ;  Germans,  black  and  greasy,  lay  in  heaps  to 
gether,  men  and  women,  and  seemed  to  occupy 
their  whole  time  eating.  All  the  other  passen 
gers,  especially  the  Irish,  disliked  them ;  their 
hands  and  faces  were  so  dirty,  and  their  old  rags 
smelled  so  disgustingly,  that  we  pity  any  company 
in  a  close  room  who  would  have  a  German 
amongst  them.  A  few  garrulous  and  excitable 
Frenchmen  walked  up  and  down  on  one  side  of 
the  deck,  talking  loudly  ;  Italian  organ-grinders 
and  beggars  had  their  place,  and  two  or  three 
swarthy  Spaniards  leaned  over  the  bulwark,  look 
ing  down  at  the  water. 

At  a  little  distance  from  and  directly  in  front 
of  Annie  and  her  friend  sat  a  Scotchman  alone 
by  himself.  Not  that  he  was  by  any  means  the 
only  Scotchman  on  board,  but  he  seemed  to  be 
of  a  sentimental  turn  of  mind,  and  probably 
loved  solitude.  He  had  a  very  long  face  and 
forehead,  whitish-colored  hair,  a  very  red  beard, 
and  wore  a  short  frock-coat  of  heavy,  coarse 
material,  with  a  row  of  immense  buttons  on  each 
side,  short,  tight  trowsers,  and,  when  he  chose  to 
wear  it,  a  torn  glazed  cap.  One  arm  rested  on  a 
coil  of  rope  behind  him,  in  the  hand  of  which  he 
held  a  large-sized  snuff-box,  and  the  other  hand 


Annie  Reilly.  125 

was  employed  in  occasionally  carrying  the  snuff 
to  his  nose.  Whether  he  was  an  old  man  with  a 
white  head,  or  a  very  young  man  with  false 
whiskers,  or  a  middle-aged  one,  it  would  take 
some  person  well  skilled  in  those  matters  to  say.' 
From  the  time  Annie  and  her  friend  came*  on 
deck,  he  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  the  former ; 
and  turn  her  head  in  what  direction  she  would  to 
avoid  his  gaze,  he  moved  so  as  to  watch  her  face. 
Whether  it  was  from  admiration,  or  curiosity,  or 
impertinence,  his  countenance  gave  no  indication. 
Annie  felt  greatly  annoyed,  and,  not  wishing  to 
go  below  in  the  damp  smell,  and  seeing  no  place 
on  deck  to  escape  to,  mentioned  the  matter  to 
her  friend. 

"  Oh !  I  have  noticed  him,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy, 
laughing.  "  He  is  some  stupid  lout ;  don't  let 
him  annoy  you." 

Annie  laughed  at  this  remark,  and  they  chatted 
away  lively  and  soon  forgot  him ;  but  never  for  a 
second  did  he  change  his  look. 

At  length  a  number  of  those  on  deck  went 
below,  and  the  two  friends  rose  and  went  to 
another  place  behind  the  engine,  where  they 
found  a  more  comfortable  seat.  They  had  hardly 
seated  themselves,  when  the  Scotchman  came 
and  lay  down,  this  time  on  the  deck,  about  the 
same  distance  from  them,  and  turned  his  eyes  on 


126  Annie  Reilly. 

Annie  again.  She  was  so  much  alarmed  that 
she  begged  of  the  other  to  come  below  at  once. 

"  Oh !  nonsense,"  was  the  reply,  "  are  we  going 
down  there  because  of  that  awkward  fellow  ? 
Leave  him  to  me,  and,  if  he  attempts  to  speak  to 
you,  I'll  insult  him  so  badly  that,  if  he  was  as 
stupid  again,  he'll  annoy  you  no  more." 

Annie  in  her  heart  thanked  Providence  she 
had  such  a  friend.  If  she  were  alone,  what 
would  she  do?  He  would  frighten  her  to 
death. 

At  length  the  dinner-hour  arrived,  and,  as  they 
were  about  to  descend  the  ladder,  Annie  felt  a 
light  tap  on  her  shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  her 
eyes  met  her  tormentor's  dull  gaze.  She  clutched 
her  friend's  arm,  but,  before  the  latter  could 
speak,  he  was  gone  in  amongst  the  crowd  clam 
bering  down  to  the  table. 

Annie's  heart  throbbed  so,  and  she  felt  so  very 
much  annoyed,  that  she  could  not  eat  any  of  the 
choice  morsels  which  her  friend  took  from  a  little 
basket  in  her  trunk.  It  was  a  hard  task  to  induce 
her  to  go  on  deck  that  evening,  but  Mrs.  Duffy- 
begged  of  her  so  much  for  her  health's  sake  not 
to  remain  in  that  "hole,"  as  she  called  it,  and 
promised  so  fervently  to  put  an  end  to  the 
Scotchman's  annoyance  in  case  he  should  renew 
it,  that  at  length  she  consented  to  go  up  again. 


Annie  Reilly.  127 

They  climbed  up  on  the  forward  deck,  the 
mother  taking  her  little  boy,  who  felt  somewhat 
better,  and  sat  watching  the  water-fowls  flying 
about  and  dipping  down  to  the  water  here  and 
there  ;  wondering  where  those  birds  built  their 
nests,  or  were  there  any  islands  near. 

Annie  had  not  quite  recovered  from  the  shock 
she  had  received,  and  was  yet  very  restless,  turn 
ing  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  ladder  now 
and  then,  and  starting  at  every  glazed  cap  she 
saw  appearing.  Mrs.  Duffy  drew  her  closer  to 
her  side,  and,  putting  her  arm  around  her  waist, 
told  her  she  had  nothing  to  dread.  At  length 
both,  happening  to  look  round,  saw  the  ungainly 
figure  of  the  Scotchman  looming  into  view  up  the 
ladder. 

"Heavens!  there  he  is  again/'-  exclaimed 
Annie,  clinging  to  her  friend.  "  He'll  frighten 
me  to  death." 

Mrs.  Duffy  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  upon  him  as 
he  lumbered  up  the  deck.  When  he  came  within 
a  few  yards  of  them,  he  hesitated,  stopped,  came 
a  little  nearer,  pulled  out  his  snuff-box,  and,  com- 
ing  up  to  them,  held  it  open  towards  Annie, 
without  saying  a  word. 

"  We  don't  want  your  snuff,  thank  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Duffy,  shaking  her  head  with  a  frown. 

"  I  ony  want  to  gie   this  lassie  a  pinch,"  said 


128  Annie  Reiliy. 

he,  thrusting  the   box   into  Annie's  face.     The 
poor  girl  was  pale  with  terror. 

"  You  begone,  sir !"  exclaimed  her  friend,  jump 
ing  to  her  feet,  "  and  annoy  this  young  girl  no 
more  with  look  or  word  of  yours,  or  I'll;  com 
plain  to  the  captain.  She  is  young,  and  not  long 
from  home,  and  not  used  to  looking  at  such 
frights  as  you." 

m"  Ah  wull — "  he    began,  moving  backwards  a 
step. 

"  Say  no  more.  Leave  here,  now,  or  I'll  go 
to  the  captain  directly."  And  she  moved  as  if 
to  fulfil  the  threat,  when  he  turned  and  shambled 
away  down  the  length  of  the  deck,  down  the  lad 
der,  and,  when  he  had  about  time  to  reach  there, 
they  saw  him  standing  very  demure-looking,  with 
his  back  against  the  bulwark. 

Mrs.  Duffy  laughed  so  heartily  when  he  was 
gone  at  his  awkward  look  and  manner  that 
Annie  could  not  help  joining  her,  and  they 
laughed  together  till  the  tears  rolled  down  their 
cheeks.  The  Scotchman  annoyed  them  no 
further  during  the  voyage. 

Any  time  he  chanced  to  see  them,  he  might 
venture  to  steal  a  look  at  Annie ;  but,  if  Mrs. 
Duffy  happened  to  catch  him,  he  quickly  made 
his  way  out  of  sight.  Nothing  further  worthy  of 
notice  occurred  to  our  heroine  during  the  voyage, 


Annie  Reilly.  129 

which  may  be  termed  a  pleasant  one,  excepting 
a  few  stormy  days  crossing  the  banks  of  New 
foundland,  when  the  face  of  the  ocean  changed 
from  its  calm  aspect,  the  waves  ran  high  and 
angry,  tossing  the  ship  from  side  to  side,  drifting 
tin  cans,  kettles,  boxes,  passengers,  and  baskets 
hither  and  thither  in  every  direction.  The  storm 
lulled  as  they  approached  the  American  coast, 
and  on  a  beautiful  warm  evening  Sandy  Hook 
lightship  came  in  view.  All  crowded  to  the 
vessel's  side,  crushing  and  climbing  over  each 
other,  to  get  a  view  of  the  new  land  in  which  they 
intended  living. 

What  a  moment  it.  is  for  those  kept  down 
with  poverty  and  oppression  at  home,  toiling  in 
hunger  and  exposure  to  enrich  the  very  ones  to 
whom  they  owe  their  degradation,  when  their 
weary  eyes  first  rest  on  America's  shore  !  Once 
there,  they  know  tyranny  can  claim  them  no  more, 
and  that  every  advantage,  every  justice  allowed 
an  honest  people  on  earth,  will  be  their  share. 

When  the  ship  had  sailed  up  the  bay  and  cast 
anchor,  it  was  nightfall,  and  the  passengers  learn 
ed  they  could  not  go  ashore  till  morning.  What 
an  anxious,  busy  night  it  was  on  board  :  every 
one  putting  in  the  best  order  they  could  what 
little  they  possessed,  that  they  might  make  as 
good  an  appearance  as  possible  when  they  reach- 


130  Annie  Reilly. 

ed  New  York.  Packing  up,  bundling  up,  tying 
up,  loosing  and  unloosing,  washing  and  shaving, 
were  going  on  in  every  quarter  below  ;  while  those 
who  had  none  of  these  things  to  do  lined  the 
ship's  side,  watching  the  lights  along  the  river 
and  in  the  city,  till  the  steward  announced  all 
would  have  to  go  to  bed  till  morning.  Little  use 
in  sending  them  there  ;  for  not  one  passenger  on 
board  could  sleep  that  night. 

Mrs.  Duffy,  who  did  not  intend  staying  any 
length  of  time  in  New  York,  but  to  hurry  on  to  her 
husband  in  Ohio,  however  promised  to  remain 
with  Annie  till  she  saw  her  on  the  right  way  to 
Kitty  Brady. 

Poor  Annie  felt  very  sad  and  timid.  A  thou 
sand  disturbing  thoughts  came  into  her  mind. 
What  if  Kitty  had  left  New  York,  and  was  not 
to  be  found,  and  that  she  should  be  left  alone  in 
the  streets  of  the  large  city  ?  And  even  if  Kitty 
was  where  she  still  expected  her,  she  might  lose 
her  way,  and  probably  meet  the  Scotchman  or 
somebody  like  him. 

These  and  numerous  other  apprehensions  she 
mentioned  to  Mrs.  Duffy,  who  only  laughed  at 
some,  and  chided  her  good-naturedly  for  others. 

Both  were  up  at  break  of  day,  and  sat,  and 
walked,  and  watched  till  the  tender  came  out  to 
take  the  passengers  ashore.  What  a  rush  was 


Annie  Reilly.  131 

there  then  !  Heaps  of  trunks  and  other  baggage, 
piled  in  every  shape,  covered  the  deck;  men  ;iml 
women  rushed  frantically  around  to  discover  their 
own,  and  the  noise  and  confusion  of  tongues  must 
have  resembled  very  much  that  which  put  an  end 
to  the  tower  of  Babel.  At  length,  passengers 
and  baggage  arrived  at  Castle  Garden. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ANNIE  AT  CASTLE   GARDEN. — HOW    PASSENGERS 
ARE   TREATED   THERE. 

JLL  the  din  and  confusion  which  Annie 
had  experienced  since  she  left  home 
heaped  together  would  not  equal 
that  which  met  her  at  Castle  Garden. 
When  the  tenders  reached  the  dock,  the  pas 
sengers  made  a  mad  rush  for  the  shore,  crowding 
over  each  other  up  the  gangway.  The  trunks 
and  baggage  were  landed  in  the  most  confused 
manner.  A  person  would  imagine  it  was  the  first 
obligation  those  employed  for  that  purpose  owed 
to  the  emigrants,  to  break  and  smash  their  articles 
as  much  as  possible.  It  seemed  to  be  the  rule  to 
throw  all  the  small  and  frail  boxes  ashore  first, 
and  then  fling  the  heavier  and  stronger  ones  on 
top  of  them.  Locks  were  knocked  off,  lids  and 
sides  broken  in,  and  the  contents  of  several 
strewn  like  a  wreck  along  the  dock.  The  pas 
sengers  tried  frantically  to  save  their  property, 
and,  in  doing  so,  had  to  contend  with  the  vulgar 
abuse  and  often  blows  of  the  officials.  Some  old 
and  feeble  men  and  women,  and  young  girls.  sa<v 


Annie  Reilly.  133 

all  they  possessed  in  the  world  trampled  under 
the  feet  of  the  excited  crowd ;  and,  helpless  to 
prevent  the  injury,  turned  away  and  began  to 
cry.  It  was  only  the*  strong  and  rugged  could  save 
their  share  in  such  a  place,  and  that  only  after 
desperate  exertions. 

A  person  looking  on  at  one  of  these  scenes 
c-ould  not  help  thinking  that  any  strong  enough 
to  carry  away  their  effects  from  such  a  place  were 
able  to  get  along  in  America  as  far  as  muscle  was 
concerned. 

Annie's  trunk,  being  made  of  strong  oak,  re 
ceived  no  further  injury  than  being  thrown  bot 
tom  upwards  on  a  number  of  small  paper  ones  ; 
so  all  she  had  to  do  was  to  wait  till  the  confusion 
would  abate,  to  have  it  taken  inside. 

That  which  contained  Mrs.  Duffy's  articles  did 
not  escape  so  fortunately.  She  found  it,  after  a 
laborious  search,  broken  open,  and  a  quantity  of 
linen  she  was  taking  to  her  husband  gone.  The 
poor  woman  wrung  her  hands,  and  ran  here  and 
there  relating  her  misfortune  to  and  asking  advice 
of  every  man  whom  she  saw  looked  like  an  official. 
Not  one  of  them  even  made  her  a  reply.  So  all 
she  could  do  was  to  wring  her  hands  again,  and 
gather  up  what  was  left  behind  in  a  corner  of  her 
shawl,  for  the  trunk  was  a  total  wre/ck. 

Annie  rendered  her  good   benefactress  all   the 


Annie  Reilly 


assistance  in  her  power,  and  Mrs.  Duffy,  being  of 
such  a  cheerful  disposition,  was  soon  laughing  at 
the  figure  she  cut  with  the  bundle  in  her  shawl. 

A  thick-set,  rough,  decidedly  bad-looking  man. 
seeing  Annie  standing  by  her  trunk,  hurried  ove; 
and  asked  her  if  she  wished  it  taken  inside. 

Annie  was  about  to  say  yes,  when  her  com 
panion  hastily  interposed,  and  said,  "  No,  not 
yet." 

The  fellow,  seeing  he  would  have  got  the 
"job,"  as  he  called  it,  were  it  not  for  her,  heaped 
a  volley  of  foul  abuse  on  the  poor  woman,  and 
even  shook  his  fist  in  her  face,  to  the  great  amuse 
ment  of  two  officials  who  were  standing  by  smok 
ing  very  long  cigars. 

At  length,  when  the  greater  part  of  the  lug 
gage  was  gone,  Mrs.  Duffy  took  hold  of  one  end 
of  the  trunk,  and,  telling  Annie  to  lift  the  other, 
both  carried  it  into  a  long,  wide,  dreary-looking 
structure  not  unlike  the  arch  of  a  wooden  bridge. 
They  then  joined  the  stream,  filing  into  another 
part  of  the  building,  on  through  a  number  of  narro\v 
doors,  at  one  of  which  they  were  obliged  to  give 
their  names,  then  into  a  large  open  space,  like  an 
old-country  market-house,  filled  with  emigrants, 
some  walking  dreamily  to  and  fro,  and  others 
lying  on  the*  cold  flags  to  rest  their  weary 
limbs.  A  number  of  licensed  boarding-house 


Annie  Reilly.  135 

keepers,  or  "  sharks,"  as  they  are  called  in  New 
York,  were  going  amongst  them,  seeking  to  entice 
as  many  as  they  could  to  their  establishments  for 
the  night. 

Now,  we  think  it  is  very  right  and  proper 
to  allow  the  keepers  of  respectable  lodging- 
houses  to  enter  Castle  Garden  ;  for  many  poor 
emigrants,  who  are  weary  and  anxious  to  find  a 
bed  to  rest  on,  know. not  where  to  look  for  it. 
But  to  permit  such  unscrupulous,  heartless  vil 
lains  as  are  usually  found  there  to  lead  away 
innocent,  unsuspecting  people  to  their  dens  is  a 
standing  shame  to  the  city.  But  we  are  greatly 
afraid  that  the  first-mentioned  class  have  a  slender 
chance  of  that  privilege  till  some  change  amongst 
the  officials  takes  place. 

At  length,  when  the  poor  creatures  were  worn 
out  with  watching  to  be  let  out  in  the  open  air,  a 
flashily  dressed  official  mounted  a  platform,  and 
began  to  call  out  the  names  of  such  as  had  letters 
awaiting  them.  The  number  of  letters  was 
not  many,  but  the  time  he  occupied  in  read 
ing  the  addresses  was  intolerable.  Not  that 
he  was  by  any  means  a  slow  reader ;  for  he 
mentioned  a  name  so  quickly,  driving  Christian 
and  surname  into  one,  that  few  of  his  listeners 
could  make  out  what  he  said.  The  attention  he 
bestowed  on  his  dress,  adjusting  his  collar 


136  Annie  Reilly. 

smoothing  down  his  bosom,  and  brushing  up  his 
hair  after  every  name  seemed  to  be  the  very 
object  for  which  he  was  there.  Many  of  the  let 
ters  were  thrown  aside,  no  one  claiming  them, 
while  the  very  persons  for  whom  they  were  in 
tended  were  in  a  fever  of  expectation  on  the  floor. 
This  task  over,  such  of  the  emigrants  as  chose 
were  permitted  to  depart.  Many  availed  them 
selves  of  this  opportunity ;  but  a  few  lonely, 
dejected  creatures  remained  behind,  hoping  to 
find  employment  through  the  Free  Labor 
Bureau.  Annie,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Duffy 
and  her  little  boy,  went  in  search  of  the  nearest 
way  to  the  part  of  the  city  where  Kitty  Brady 
lived,  which,  after  many  enquiries  and  long  tra 
velling,  they  found.  It  was  a  long  way  up  the 
city ;  and,  after  an  affectionate  parting,  and  each 
promising  to  write  to  the  other,  Annie  went 
aboard  a  street-car,  and  was  driven  off.  Mrs. 
Duffy  stood  looking  after  her  till  the  car  was  out 
of  sight  ;  then  began  making  her  own  enquiries, 
and.  being  successful  in  these  too,  started  for  the 
Chambers  Street  ferry. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

MEETING    OLD    FRIENDS,    AGREEABLE    AND 
OTHERWISE. 

|HE  street-car  jingled  along  merrily,  first 
down  a  narrow,  crowded  street,  filled 
with  shops,  outside  and  inside  of 
which  hung  more  ready-made  clothing 
than  Annie  thought  would  supply  half  the  world, 
then  into  a  long,  wide  thoroughfare  of  much  bet 
ter  appearance.  Up  this  street,  past  more  cloth 
ing-houses,  with  figures  of  men  and  women  clad 
in  the  height  of  fashion  dangling  from  the  awn 
ings  ;  and  underneath,  on  the  sidewalk,  Jews 
and  Jewesses,  old  and  young,  some  gesticulating 
frantically  at  the  passers-by  to  "  walk  in  "  and 
purchase ;  others,  pale  and  worn  out  from  inces 
sant  talking,  leaned  against  the  windows,  looking 
no  more  like  life  than  the  figures  above  their 
heads.  Past  oyster  and  beer  saloons,  with  fat, 
lazy  Dutchmen  resting  on  the  counters  or  sitting 
by  the  doors,  while  a  few  .sat  around  a  table 
drawn  near  the  entrance,  drinking,  smoking,  and 
playing  cards.  Past  liquor-stores,  looking  very 
shabby  and  unwashed,  with  numbers  of  red-faced, 


138  Annie  Reilly. 

bloated,  stupid-looking,  ill-clad  men  dozing  on 
barrels  outside,  and  a  few  dandily-dressed  fellows 
smoking  cigars  or  chewing  tobacco  inside  the. 
doors.  Occasionally  a  youth  or  two,  evidently 
taking  the  dry-rot,  roused  up  one  of  the  sleep 
ers,  and  engaged  him  in  conversation.  Past  pea 
nut-stands,  with  Chinamen  or  Japanese  sitting  on 
the  flags  behind  them.  Up,  up,  on,  on,  till  Annie 
thought  she  would  never  reach  the  end  of  the 
street.  At  length  the  car-conductor  beckoned  to 
her,  and  told  her  she  was  to  get  off  at  the  next 
corner.  He  told  her  very  kindly  the  way  to  take 
from  there,  and  to  watch  the  numbers  on  the 
doors.  She  thanked  him,  and,  the  car  being 
stopped,  got  off,  and  after  a  short  walk  arrived  at 
the  house  bearing  the  number  she  sought.  She 
descended  to  the  basement  door,  and  rang  the 
bell.  A  very  cleanly-looking  girl  opened  it,  and 
asked  politely  whom  she  wanted  to  see. 

"  Please   tell    me   is   this   where    Kitty    Brady 
lives?"  asked  Annie. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the   other,  "  but  she  is  out  to 
market.    Please  step  inside  ;  she'll  be  in  directly." 

Annie  thanked  her,  and  walked  into  the  hall. 

"  Come  on  this  way,"  said  the  other,  going  be 
fore,  "  and  take  a  seat ;  you  look  tired." 

Annie   followed   her   into   the   apartment,  and 
being   handed  a  chair,  sat   sometime  in   silence; 


Annie  Re  illy.  139 

for  the  girl  seemed  to  be  busy.     At  length  the 
door-bell  jingled  loudly. 

"  Here  she  is  now,"  said  the  other;  and,  going 
to  the  door,  returned  with  a  neatly-dressed,  bright- 
eyed,  intelligent-looking  girl,  who  looked  so  to 
tally  unlike  the  Kitty  Brady  she  remembered 
that  she  could  not  believe  it  was  the  same,  till 
the  other  girl  said  : 

"  Kitty,  this  young  lady  has  been  waiting  to 
see  you." 

Kitty,  who  had  not  the  least  idea  of  who  Annie 
might  be,  and  was  about  to  go  up-stairs  to  her 
duties,  turned  back,  and,  coming  close  to  her, 
looked  into  her  face.  Annie's  eyes  met  hers, 
and  for  a  moment  they  looked  into  each  other's 
faces. 

At  length  Annie  burst  into  tears,  and  said  sor 
rowfully  :  "You  don't  remember  me,  Kitty?" 

This  was  the  first  time  Annie  had  spoken.  The 
voice  was  enough — the  same  sweet  voice  Kitty 
had  heard  a  thousand  times  in  her  mother's 
cabin. 

"  O  little  Annie,  darling,  dear  !  And  can  this 
be  you  ?"  exclaimed  Kitty,  throwing  her  arms 
around  her  neck. 

They  kissed  each  other  again  and  again,  and 
wept  till  their  faces  were  wet.  Neither  could 
speak  a  word  for  some  minutes  When  Kitty  sat 


140  Annie  Reilly. 

down  by  her  new-found  friend,  and  took  her  hand 
in  hers,  the  other  girl  came  and  kissed  her,  too, 
and  hoped  they  would  always  be  good  friends. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  anything  further  about 
home,"  said  Kitty,  when  she  had  wept  bitterly 
over  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  Farrell 
Reilly's  family,  "  till  we  go  to  my  aunt's.  I'll 
get  leave  to  go  with  you  for  this  evening." 

Kitty  dried  her  eyes  as  well  as  she  could,  and 
ran  up-stairs,  taking  with  her  the  parcel  her 
mother  had  sent  her,  and 'soon  returned  with 
word  she  could  spend  the  evening  with  her. 
Both  girls  started  out,  Annie  feeling  much  hap 
pier  than  she  thought  she  could  in  many  a  day. 

After  a  pretty  long  walk,  they  reached  the 
house.  It  was  a  neat,  two-story  frame  building, 
with  very  white  walls  and  very  green  Venetian 
blinds,  and  had  a  trim  little  garden  in  front.  On 
the  door  was  a  highly  polished  brass  plate  bear 
ing  the  name,  Patrick  Sweeny.  Patrick  Sweeny 
was  the  husband  of  Kitty's  aunt,  and,  being  a 
.very  sober,  industrious  mechanic,  had  by  this 
time  accumulated  money  enough  to  purchase  the 
cottage  and  live  comfortably.  Kitty  rang  the 
bell,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  a  plainly-dressed, 
good-natured-looking,  middle-aged  woman,  who 
kissed  her  niece  affectionately,  and  then  began 
chiding  her  for  staying  away  so  long.  Kitty 


Annie  Reilly.  141 

made  the  best  excuse  she  could,  and,  turning  to 
Annie,  said : 

"  Aunt,  if  you  were  to  think  for  the  length  of 
a  day,  I  don't  believe  you  would  find  out  who 
this  is." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Sweeny. 
"  I  have  never,  I  think,  seen  the  young  lady 
before."  And  she  looked  kindly  at  Annie. 

"  Well,  I'll  not  keep  you  waiting,  aunt.  She 
is  Farrell  Reilly's  daughter  Annie,  just  landed 
to-day." 

"Farrell  Reilly's  daughter!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Sweeny,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  and  kissing  her 
fondly.  "  You  are  a  thousand  welcomes  to  my 
house.  I  am  delighted  to  see  one  of  your  family 
under  my  roof."  And  she  pushed  the  parlor  door 
open,  and  led  the  girls  inside,  hastily  removed 
Annie's  hat  and  shawl,  and  sat  down  by  her  on 
the  sofa.  "  And  how  is  your  father  and  mother, 
my  child  ?  Tis  very  strange,  but  I  was  dreaming 
of  the  old  country  last  night ;  such  a  queer, 
mixed-up  dream  it  was.  Ryan,  or  John  the  Pig, 
as  we  used  to  call  him,  was  in  it,  and  Father 
Fitzpatrick,  and  your  mother,  and  a  strange  young 
lady,  whom  I  think  must  be  you." 

"  'Twas,  indeed,  a  very  strange  dream,  aunt,' 
said  Kitty.  "Ryan is  the  cause  of  Annie  being  in 
New  York  to-day." 


142  Annie  Reilly. 

Mrs    Sweeny  raised  her  hands  in  alarm    and 

said : 

"  Tell  me,  Annie,  did  you  leave  your  father  and 
mother  well  ?" 

"  As  well  as  could  be  expected,  after  what  had 
happened  to  them,"  said  Annie,  her  tears  begin 
ning  to  fall  afresh. 

Mrs.  Sweeny  was  truly  grieved  when  she  heart, 
the  poor  girl's  story. 

"Poor  Farrell  Reilly!"  she  said,  putting  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  "  that  was  such  a  good 
friend  to  us  all.  How  heart-sorry  I  am  for  his 
trouble  !  I  never  dream  of  that  scoundrel  Ryan," 
she  went  on,  "  but  something  is  sure  to  follow — 
either  some  trouble  to  ourselves,  or  I'll  hear 
bad  news.  You  may  not  have  heard  it,  child, 
but  he  was  the  cause  of  our  downfall  in  the  old 
country.  But  now,  when  I  look  back,  I  think  it 
may  all  have  been  for  the  best ;  and  you,  too, 
child,"  drying  Annie's  tears,  "will,  I  trust  in 
God,  live  to  say  the  same ;  so  we'll  fret  no  more, 
and  be  as  merry  as  we  can." 

"  That's  just  the  way  to  be,  aunt,"  said  Kitty. 

"  I  couldn't  help  crying,  either,  when  I  heard 
it  ;  so  we'll  talk  about  something  else." 

By-and-by  Mrs.  Sweeny's  daughter,  a  tall,  hand 
some  girl  of  about  sixteen,  came  in,  and  all  four 
spent  a  pleasant  evening  till  it  was  time  for  Kitty 


Annie  Reilly.  143* 

to  leave.  Annie  and  Miss  Sweeny  accompanied 
her  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  and,  after  receiv 
ing  her  word  that  she  would  call  the  following 
day,  turned  back.  They  had  not  proceeded  far, 
when  Miss  Sweeny,  happening  to  look  across  the 
street,  saw  the  figure  of  a  man,  buttoned  up  in  a 
long,  close-fitting,  white  duster,  with  his  back  to 
wards  them,  leaning  against  a  lamp-post.  He 
was  such  a  long  figure,  and  such  an  awkward  one, 
that  she  could  not  help  pointing  him  out  to 
Annie,  and  both  smiled.  As  they  approached, 
however,  Annie's  smile  quickly  faded  ;  for  on  the 
head  of  the  figure  she  recognized  the  old  glazed, 
chipped  cap  of  the  Scotchman.  Not  wishing  to 
betray  her  feelings  to  her  companion,  and  think 
ing  after  all  it  might  not  be  he,  she  merely 
moved  a  little  closer  to  the  other,  and  walked 
on.  Try  as  she  might,  she  could  not  help  cast 
ing  a  look  in  the  direction  of  the  lamp-post  when 
they  came  opposite  to  it,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
stood  the  graceful  Scotchman,  with  his  dull  eyes 
fixed  on  her  as  they  used  to  be  on  board  the 
ship.  He  moved  as  if  to  come  towards  them,  and 
Annie,  her  heart  throbbing  violently,  caught  her 
friend  by  the  arm,  and  begged  her  to  hurry  on. 

"Why,  what's  the  cause  of  this,  Miss  Reilly?" 
asked  the  other,  with  a  surprised  look.  "  What 
has  happened  to  alarm  you  ?" 


*  1 44  Annie  Reilly. 

Annie  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  the  Scotchman, 
who  began  walking  along  the  opposite  side,  and 
said : 

"  Please  don't  ask  me  now.  I'll  tell  you  when 
we  reach  the  house.  Please  hurry  on." 

Both  girls  began  to  walk  quickly ;  but,  when 
they  quickened  their  pace,  the  man  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  did  the  same,  jolting  along, 
•  swaying  from  side  to  side,  like  an  ill-built  load  of 
hay.  Annie,  thoroughly  frightened,  glanced  at 
him  occasionally,  and  at  last  begged  Miss  Sweeny 
to  run.  The  latter,  at  length  comprehending  the 
cause  of  Annie's  fright,  broke  into  a  laugh,  and 
said  : 

"  Now,  Miss  Reilly,  you  must  not  be  so  easily 
alarmed  as  that,  or  you  cannot  well  live  in  New 
York.  You  will  see  more  frights  than  him  before 
a  week." 

At  this  moment,  their  annoyer  hastened  into 
the  street,  and,  hurrying  across,  met  them  on  a 
corner,  despite  all  their  efforts  to  get  past  before 
him. 

"  Ah  !  noo,  lassie,  you're  nae  kind  to  run  away 
from  an    auld   acquaintance,"    said    he,    planting 
himself  before  Annie.     "  I  hae  lang  been  watchir. 
to  see  ye." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  you,"  said  Annie,  her 
terror  giving  her  courage.  "  How  dare  you 


Annie  Re  illy.  145 

annoy  me  this  way!     Let  me  pass  now,  or  I'll 
call  the  police." 

"  Nae,  nae,  noo,''  said  he  coaxingly ;  "  ye  wad 
nae  do  that." 

"  I  shall,  I  shall.  Miss  Sweeny,  I  beg  of  you 
call  a  policeman,"  said  Annie. 

That  young  lady  had  her  face  partly  turned 
away,  looking  in  the  direction  of  a  number  of 
mechanics  who  were  leaving  a  building  on  the 
opposite  corner.  She  seemed  not  to  hear  Annie's 
entreaty,  and  still  watched  the  men  coming  into 
the  street,  and  scattering  in  every  direction.  At 
length  a  tall,  straight,  smart-looking  young  man 
came  out,  putting  on  his  coat  as  he  did  so.  Miss 
Sweeny  quickly  beckoned  him,  and  in  a  second  he 
was  beside  them. 

"  Here  is  a  ruffian  annoying  this  young  lady," 
said  Miss  Sweeny,  pointing  to  the  Scotchman. 
"  He  has  stopped  her  on  the  sidewalk." 

The  young  man  cast  a  scornful  look  on  him, 
and,  drawing  his  open  hand,  slapped  him  two  or 
three  times  on  each  jaw  ;  and,  when  he  turned  to 
run,  which  was  as  quickly  as  he  possibly  could, 
gave  him  such  a  kick  that  for  the  first  few  yards 
he  never  made  such  speed  in  his  life.  Now, 
whether  it  were  that  the  blows  blinded  his  eyes, 
or  that  his  feet  were  so  very  clumsy  that  they 
could  not  be  trusted  in  a  long  race,  we  don't  pre- 


146  Annie  Reilly. 

sume  to  know  ;  but,  after  running  a  little  distance, 
he  stumbled  and  fell  in  a  heap  on  a  pile  of  dirt 
which  the  sweepers  had  just  gathered  up.  A 
policeman, happening  to  see thecrowd  ofboysgath 
ering  around  him,  hurried  up,  and,  in  spite  pf  all 
his  entreaties  and  declarations,  hauled  him  off  to 
the  station-house  for  a  drunken  man.  The  police 
man  was  not  much  to  blame ;  for  he  certainly 
looked  as  if  he  had  rolled  the  streets  for  a  mile. 

All  this  happened  in  such  rapid  succession  that 
Annie  and  her  friend  were  bewildered.  The 
young  man  accompanied  them  part  of  the  way 
towards  the  house,  and,  when  he  turned  away, 
Miss  Sweeny  told  Annie  he  was  Kitty's  lover. 

Mr.  Sweeny  was  within,  anxiously  awaiting 
their  return ;  for,  after  all  he  had  heard  his  wife 
say  of  Annie's  family,  he  longed  to  see  her.  He 
was  a  low-sized,  fat,  good-humored-looking  man, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  just  as  fond 
of  fun  as  any  Irishman  in  New  York.  He  told 
so  many  amusing  stories,  and  laughed  so  much 
during  the  evening,  that  Annie  thought  that  he 
must  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  And  he 
was  happy.  Strictly  temperate  from  the  day  he 
came  to  New  York,  he  spent  none  of  his  money 
in  the  grog-shop  ;  never  came  home  cross,  peev 
ish,  or  full  of  bad  whisky,  but  always  light- 
hearted,  even  after  the  hardest  day's  toil,  to  join 


Annie  Reilly.  147 

his  wife  in  their  evening  prayers ;  never  lounged 
around  dirty  and  slovenly  on  Sunday  morning,  but 
could  be  seen  early  in  his  seat  at  church.  Through 
his  industry  and  good  habits,  he  was  now  inde 
pendent. 

Annie  spent  a  very  pleasant  evening,  went  to 
rest  on  a  comfortable  bed,  and  slept  soundly  till 
the  bright  rays  of  the  sun,  shining  through  the 
blinds,  told  her  the  morning  was  far  advanced. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

JAMES   O'ROURKE'S    EXPERIENCES   IN  A 
YORK  MENAGERIE. 


IAMES  O'ROURKE  continued  to 
work  along  shore  for  several  months, 
saving  up  all  the  money  he  could,  and 
sending  it  to  his  father.  He  had 
written  to  Annie  the  day  after  his  arrival,  but, 
receiving  word  from  Francis  that  she  had  gone 
to  New  York,  tried  by  every  possible  means  to 
learn  her  whereabouts  in  the  city.  He  went  to 
Castle  Garden,  hoping  to  receive  some  informa 
tion  in  that  very  correct  establishment  ;  but  no 
such  name  had  been  entered  on  the  books  about 
the  time  he  mentioned.  This»he  gleaned  from  a 
clerk  after  a  day's  delay  —  the  very  clerk  to  whom 
Annie  had  given  her  name.  He  even  advertised 
in  some  of  the  daily  papers,  but  without  effect. 
When  his  hard  day's  work  would  be  over,  he 
went  around  to  the  houses  of  such  as  he  had 
learned  were  from  that  part  of  Ireland,  and  re 
quested  them  to  make  every  enquiry  ;  but  months 
went  by,  and  he  heard  nothing  of  Annie.  The 


Annie  Reilly.  149 

only  conclusion  he  could  arrive  at  was  that  she 
had  gone  on  to  some  distant  city. 

This  bitter  disappointment  weighed  heavily 
on  his  mind.  If  she  were  in  Ireland,  where  he 
might  hear  from  her  now  and  then,  he  would  not 
have  felt  so  heart-broken ;  but  to  know  she  had 
been  and  probably  was  in  New  York,  that  per 
haps  he  saw  the  ship  that  carried  her  over 
coming  into  the  harbor,  and  that  every  effort  of 
his  to  see  her  or  hear  of  her  proved  in  vain,  was 
painfully  distressing. 

Meanwhile,  the  class  of  people  amongst  whom 
he  was  thrown  were  not  calculated  much  to  im 
prove  his  spirits.  We  do  not  mean  by  this  his 
fellow-laborers,  who  were  for  the  most  part 
honest,  hard-working  men  like  Terence  McMan- 
us.  The  latter  had  told  James,  when  he  first 
went  to  work,  that  he  could  board  with  him  if  he 
chose ;  but  O'Rourke  knowing,  from  the  limited 
accommodation  he  possessed,  that  this  offer  was 
prompted  only  by  goodness  of  heart,  sought  out 
another  boarding-place — an  act  which  he  very 
soon  after  regretted. 

This  establishment  stood  in  one  of  the  side 
streets,  directly  over  a  beer-saloon.  It  consisted 
of  three  floors,  divided  into  five  or  six  rooms 
each,  and  served  no  fewer  than  fifty  boarders. 
That  these  rooms  were  of  small  compass  need 


150  Annie  Reilly. 

not  be  told.  Those  which  looked  out  on  the 
street  or  into  the  yard  in  the  rear  were  the  lar 
gest,  and  contained  two  and  three  beds  each.  The 
middle  bedrooms  were  of  such  small  dimensions, 
and  the  doors  leading  into  them  were  so  nar 
row,  that  the  beds  they  contained  must  have 
been  built  there.  These  were  sometimes  called 
the  dark  bedrooms — a  most  appropriate  name  ; 
fot,  except  the  door  is  open  or  broken  down,  as 
sometimes  happens,  not  a  ray  of  light  can  enter 
them.  We  defy  any  man,  even  the  most  unim 
aginative,  to  sleep  there  one  night  without  think 
ing  of  dungeons,  skeletons,  and  ghosts. 

All  the  floors  were  bare  but  clean,  except 
where  covered  with  tobacco-juice  or  the  ashes  of 
pipes.  The  beds — well,  one  of  them  would  not 
be  the  most  soothing  place  in  the  world  for  an  ill- 
tempered  man  with  the  toothache.  The  straw 
01  hay,  or  whatever  it  might  be,  had  an  obstinate 
habit  of  getting  into  hard,  round  lumps,  which, 
if  you  tried  to  smooth  down  in  one  spot,  instantly- 
burst  up  in  another.  The  first  night  a  person 
sleeps  on  one  of  those  beds  he  is  sure  to  start  up 
with  the  impression  that  some  one  is  beating  him 
about  the  ribs  ;  and,  to  complete  the  comfort  of 
the  thing,  the  pillows  are  hard  enough  for  the 
head  and  neck  of  any  patriarch. 

The  kitchen  was  on  the  lowest  floor  in  the  rear, 


Annie  Reilly.  151 

and  so  hot  and  fierce  did  it  look  from  the  front 
room  that  the  most  stout-hearted  boarder  never 
ventured  to  enter  it  during  the  warm  weather. 

The  first  evening  James  came  to  the  establish 
ment,  the  boarders  were  assembled  at  supper,  and 
the  lamp  on  the  table  burned  very  dimly.  A  first 
glance  along  the.  row  effaces,  and  his  heart  sank 
as  he  thought  of  Liverpool  ;  but  when  he  was 
seated,  and  surveyed  them  more  closely,  he  saw 
that  every  man  had  his  hands  and  face  washed. 
This  must  have  taken  considerable  time ;  for 
James  saw  but  one  wash-stand  in  the  hall,  and 
one  towel  sewed  together  at  the  ends,  which 
turned  on  a  round  piece  of  wood  like  a  weaver's 
reeling-stick. 

The  boarding-mistress,  Mrs.  Grady,  stood  at  a 
small,  narrow  table  by  the  window,  on  which 
were  placed  two  such  large  dishes  of  corned  beef 
and  soup  that  James  wondered  hew  they  main 
tained  their  balance,  busily  engaged  serving  out 
their  contents.  On  the  table  were  pickles,  rad 
ishes,  tomatoes,  onions,  cheese,  butter,  and 
baker's  bread  in  every  variety  of  shape,  but  all  in 
very  small  quantities,  and  so  close  together  in  the 
centre  of  the  table  that  it,  must  have  required  ex 
traordinary  exertions  on  the  part  of  those  at  the 
ends  to  reach  them  at  all. 

Mrs   Grady's  object   in  thus  placing  them  may 


152  Annie  Reilly. 

probably  have  been  a  very  laudable  one.  Her 
husband,  a  small,  weazen,  crabbed-looking  fellow, 
who  was  what 'is  commonly  called  a  "  curbstone 
broker,"  or  vagabond  real-estate  agent,  always 
sat  at  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  she  may  have 
been  determined  to  give  him  sufficient,  no  matter 
who  wanted. 

The  swarm  of  flies  on  and  around  the  table 
was  something  awful.  Bread,  butter,  boarders' 
hands  and  arms,  meat,  soup,  eyes,  noses,  and 
sometimes  mouths  were  infested  with  them  ;  and 
the  increased  hum  they  kept  up  seemed  to  pre 
vent  Mrs.  Grady  hearing  any  boarder  who  hap 
pened  to  want  his  plate  replenished. 

James  felt  nearly  as  much  disgusted  as  he  had 
been  in  Liverpool,  and  ate  very  little  supper, 
hurried  outside,  and  went  down  to  the  docks  to 
catch  a  little  fresh  air  from  the  river. 

When  he  returned,  the  boarders  were  about  to 
go  to  bed,  and  Mrs.  Grady  pointed  out  to  James 
his  bedfellow  while  he  remained  in  the  house  : 
"  A  very  nice,  clean  man,"  she  explained. 
O'Rourke  looked  at  his  hollow,  drunken  eyes 
and  old,  torn  red  shirt,  and  gravely  doubted  the 
good  lady's  recommendation. 

James  sat  for  some  time  at  the  window,  look- 
ing  at  a  wrangling  crowd  of  Dutchmen  outside 
the  saloon,  one  of  whom  kept  continually  shout- 


Annie  Reilly.  153 

ing,  "  Vat  for  you  do  mit  das,  ha  ?  Vat  for  you 
do,  ha  ?  Vat  for  you,  oder  any  man,  in  the  city  of 
Ni  Yorik,  dare  exult  me  oder  mine  olt  voomans  ?" 

When  he  had  roared  himself  hoarse,  and  no 
one  appeared  to  show  cause  why  himself  or  his 
wife  should  be  insulted,  he  muttered  a  few 
drunken  curses  at  a  crowd  of  boys  who  had 
gathered  around  himself  and  his  comrades,  and 
staggered  into  the  saloon  again. 

James  left  the  window  and  went  up-stairs  to 
his  room,  which,  by  the  way,  was  one  of  the  dark 
bedrooms.  As  he  approached  the  door,  a  faint 
light,  dimly  visible  through  the  keyhole,  attracted 
his  attention.  He  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
there,  lying  on  his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  bed, 
with  all  his  clothing,  shoes  included,  on,  was  his 
new  comrade,  quietly  smoking  a  long  white  pipe. 
James  thought  this  a  novel  place  to  smoke  in, 
but  he  merely  threw  the  door  open ;  for,  from 
the  close  heat  of  the  room  and  the  fumes  of  the 
tobacco,  the  apartment  was  well-nigh  suffocating. 

He  sat  down  on  his  trunk — the  only  seat,  ex 
cept  the  bed,  in  the  room — and  began  taking  off 
his  shoes,  hoping  the  smoker  would  leave  the 
bed,  that  he  might  lie  down.  But,  no  ;  he  lay 
there,  lamenting  the  high  price  of  liquor,  and 
predicting  the  consequent  ruin  of  the  country, 
till  his  pipe  was  smoked  down,  when  he  turned 


• 

154  Annie  Reilly. 

over  on  his  side,  and,  pulling  a  paper  of  tobacco 
from  underneath  the  bolster,  began  to  refill  it, 
which  having  done,  he  dived  after  a  match  in  his 
old,  torn  vest,  lighted  it  on  his  thigh,  and  went 
on  smoking  as  before. 

James's  patience  was  exhausted,  and  he  said  : 
"  Do  you  intend  smoking  all  night?  If  you  do, 
you  had  better  sit  outside  here,  and  let  me  lie 
down." 

"  Augh  !  the  divil  a  bit  hurry  I  am  in  to  go  to 
bed,"  said  he.  "  Me  and  a  couple  more  got  a  little 
bit  tight  around  noon-time,  and  the  boss  sacked 
every  man  of  us ;  so  I  am  not  goin*  to  work  in 
the  mornin'." 

"Well,  I  am  not  so,"  said  James.  "  I  want  to 
go  to  bed.  It  wasn't  on  your  account  I  spoke.  I 
assure  you." 

The  other  kept  silent,  and  smoked  away. 

"  Stand  up  and  leave  that  pipe  away  !  I  won 
der  how  you  can  tolerate  the  smell  of  it  your 
self ;  I  am  sick  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Arrah!  take  it  aisy,  can't  ye?"  said  he.  "  I'll 
be  through  now  in  twinty  minutes." 

"  Up  with  you  to  your  feet !"  exclaimed 
O'Rourke,  losing  all  patience  ;  and,  catching  him 
by  the  shoulder,  he  lifted  him  to  his  feet,  and  left 
him  standing  on  the  floor.  "  If  I  have  the  mis 
fortune  to  be  in  the  same  room  with  you  any 


Annie  Reilly.  155 

more,  I'd  recommend  you  to  quit  smoking  in 
bed." 

"  All  right,  I'll  get  square  one  of  these  days, 
me  lad.  I'm  the  ouldest  boorther  in  this  house, 
and  ought  to  have  the  same  privilege  as  any 
other  man;  but  I'll  get  square."  And  he  sat 
down  so  heavily  on  the  other's  trunk  as  almost 
to  crack  the  lid. 

"  If  you  break  my  trunk,  I'll  flatten  you,"  said 
James,  as  he  searched  for  a  peg  to  hang  his 
clothes  on. 

"  I  want  me  rights,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
drunken  leer,  and  raising  his  left  shoulder  to  his 
ear. 

"  What  rights  ?"  asked  James. 

"  The  same  as  other  men,"  he  shouted,  waving 
nis  hand  toward  the  other  rooms. 

James  looked  out  and  saw  at  least  a  dozen 
boarders,  some  outside,  some  inside  the  bed 
clothes,  while  the  smoke  from  their  pipes  was 
struggling  desperately  to  escape  through  a  broken 
pane. 

He  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and,  having 
worked  very  hard  that  day,  was  soon  asleep. 
Happening  to  wake  up  during  the  night,  the 
first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  the  red  glare 
of  his  companion's  pipe  close  by  his  face. 

The  next  day  he  made  enquiries  after  a  new 


'56 


Annie  Reilly. 


boarding-house ;  but,  being  told  by  his  fellow- 
laborers  that  they  were  all  alike,  he  made  up  his 
mind,  in  case  every  effort  to  find  Annie  failed,  to 
leave  New  York. 

Every  effort  in  that  direction  did  fail,  as  our 
readers  know.  So  when  the  demand  for  work 
men  at  the  oil-fields  in  Pennsylvania  came,  James 
and  a  few  others  set  out  there. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

A.NNIE   FALLS   IN   WITH   A   MOTHER-IN-LAW    AND 
A   TARTAR. — BOTH   TRY   TO   CONVERT   HER. 


IOTWITHSTANDING  that  Mr.  and 

Mrs.  Sweeny  and  Kitty  Brady  did  all 
in  their  power  to  persuade  Annie  to 
take  a  few  weeks'  rest,  she  advertised 
for  a  situation  in  one  of  the  morning  papers  the 
second  day  after  her  arrival  in  New  York.  Why 
she  insisted  on  putting  her  name  to  the  advertise 
ment  none  of  her  friends  could  make  out ;  but 
Annie  had  been  thinking  very  much  of  James 
O'Rourke,  and  praying  that  she  might  see  him, 
and  that  may  have  accounted  for  it. 

In  reply  to  the  advertisement,  a  tall,  thin- 
jawed,  oldish-looking  woman,  with  a  net  shawl 
drawn  tightly  around  her  shoulders,  called  about 
noon.  Mrs.  Sweeny  happened  to  be  out  at  the 
time,  otherwise  she  would  not  have  let  Annie 
engage  with  her.  But  the  latter  was  anxious 
to  fulfil  the  promise  she  had  made  to  Francis. 
This  was  the  first  answer  to  her  advertisement  she 
had  received,  so  she  answered  the  numerous  ques 
tions  put  to  her  as  well  as  she  could,  and  was  not 


158  Annie  Re  illy. 

a  little  delighted  when  the  lady  told  her  to  come 
in  the  morning. 

She  left  a  name  and  address  on  a  card,  which  she 
explained  were  not  her  own,  but  that  of  her  mar 
ried  daughter,  for  whose  service  she  had  engaged 
Annie.  The  latter  looked  at  the  name — Mrs. 
Derby  Granville  Phillips — and  thought  to  herself 
it  was  a  pretty  high-sounding  name,  but  not  such 
a  strange  one  after  all. 

The  address  was  Brooklyn,  and  this  confused 
her  a  little  at  first,  knowing  it  was  so  far  from  her 
friends  in  New  York  ;  but  that  was  not  to  be  con 
sidered. 

Accordingly,  at  the  appointed  hour  in  the 
morning,  Annie  appeared  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  D. 
G.  Phillips,  looking  very  pretty  and  cheerful  at 
the  prospect  of  soon  being  able  to  help  her  father 
and  mother.  The  door  was  opened  by  the  old 
lady  who  had  hired  her  in  New  York,  who,  in  return 
to  Annie's  nod  of  recognition,  merely  held  up  her 
hands  very  high,  and  said,  as  she  pulled  out  a 
large  watch  with  a  very  heavy  chain,  which  Annie 
thought  looked  remarkably  like  brass  : 

"  I  like  punctuality.  You  are  just  three  minutes 
too  soon ;  but  we'll  overlook  that  for  this  time. 
Hurry  down  to  your  business." 

Annie,  not  a  little  surprised  at  this  odd  recep 
tion,  went  down-stairs  to  the  kitchen,  and,  seeing  no 


Annie  Reilty.  159 

one  there,  stood  for  a  moment,  not  rightly  know 
ing  what  to  do  next.  Soon  she  heard  the  tread 
of  feet  coming  down  the  stairs,  and,  looking  along 
the  hall,  saw  a  young  lady,  who  in  thirty  years 
hence  would  pass  very  easily  for  the  old  one, 
coming  towards  her  with  a  little  white  lap-dog 
resting  on  one  arm,  and  a  very  flashy  novel  in  the 
hand  of  the  other.  She  put  down  the  animal  as 
she  entered  the  kitchen,  and  began  talking  to  it 
and  fondling  it,  caHing  it  the  most  endearing 
names,  and  bending  down  occasionally  to  kiss  it 
and  hug  it  to  her  breast. 

She  did  not  look  towards  Annie,  or  seem  to 
know  she  was  present,  till  she  had  tired  herself 
caressing  the  dog,  when  she  turned  round  sud 
denly,  and  said,  with  her  mother's  lofty  scorn : 

"You're  the  new  servant,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  madam,"  replied  Annie,  her  voice  quiv 
ering. 

"  A  nice  servant  you  are  !"  said  the  other,  hold 
ing  an  eye-glass,  which  only  dimmed  her  sight,  to 
her  eye,  and,  with  her  mouth  drawn  very  tight . 
looking  at  the  poor  girl.  "  Why  don't  you  go  up 
stairs  and  change  your  dress,  'm  ?" 

"  Please,  madam,"  said  Annie,  "  the  other  lady, 
your  mother  I  think — " 

"  Go  on,  go  on ;  don't  stand  to  talk  to  me  about 
what  you  thmk.  I  am  mistress  here,"  said  she 


Annie  Reilly. 

lifting  the  dog  again.  "  Change  your  clothes,  and 
look  like  work,  quick." 

"  Where  shall  I  change  my  clothes,  please, 
madam  ?"  asked  Annie. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  was  the  reply.  "  Where 
is  she  to  change  her  clothes?  Have  you  ever 
been  in  a  first-class  house  before  ?"  But  without 
giving  Annie  time  to  answer,  she  added,  throwing 
back  her  head,  and  closing  her  eyes  languidly, 
"  Go  up  to  the  servant's  room  on  the  top  floor." 

Annie  went  up-stairs,  and,  as  she  passed  the 
front  door,  she  was  almost  tempted  to  run  into 
the  street  and  away. 

The  servant's  room  of  the  "  mansion,"  as  Mrs. 
Phillips  loved  to  call  it,  was  a  very  miserable 
apartment  ;  the  walls  and  floor  bare,  and  the  ceil 
ing  hardly  five  feet  in  height. 

In  getting  ready  for  her  work,  no  girl  could 
make  greater  haste  than  she  did  but,  on  descend 
ing  to  the  kitchen  again,  she  was  met  by  the 
angry  frown  of  the  mother-in-law,  who  declared 
she  really  thought  Annie  was  gone  and  in  New 
York  by  this  time. 

The  .mansion  employed  but  one  girl,  and  as  the 
last  one  had  been  gone  three  or  four  days,  and  nei 
ther  the  mother  nor  daughter  offered  her  the  least 
assistance,  Annie  spent  a  very  laborious  morning. 
There  was  no  system  in  the  "  mansion,"  which 


Annie  Reilly.  161 

made  the  work  even  harder.  Mrs.  Phillips  would 
call  her  from  the  range  to  smooth  a  collar,  and 
from  that,  before  it  was  finished,  to  run  up-stairs 
or  out  to  the  shop  for  something  she  needed 
"  desperately,"  as  she  always  added,  to  hurry 
Annie. 

Being  so  very  busy  did  not  annoy  her,  but 
everything  she  did  was  found  fault  with,  and 
when  she  expected  a  smile,  received  only  a  with 
ering  frown. 

Poor  little  Annie,  her  heart  was  almost  break 
ing;  but  she  thought  of  the  calm  evening  by  the 
river's  bank  in  far-off  Ireland,  when  James  said 
she  was  brave  as  a  little  lion,  and  she  did  not 
shed  a  tear  now  either. 

During  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Phillips's  two  little 
boys  came  in  from  school,  and,  seeing  the  new 
servant,  were  delighted  at  the  opportunity  it 
gave  them  to  display  their  polite  training. 

"  Halloo  !"  cried  the  eldest,  a  youth  of  about 
seven,  with  a  yellowish,  unwholesome-looking 
face,  narrow  forehead,  atid  very  flat  nose — "  hal 
lo  !  And  when  did  you  come  ?"  And  he  ran  up 
to  Annie,  who  was  lifting  a  large  vessel,  filled 
with  hot  water,  from  the  range,  and  deliberately 
walked  across  her  toes. 

"  Beware,  beware,  Gussy,  of  the  scalding 
water!"  cried  his  grandmother,  who  happened 


1 62  Annie  Reilly. 

to  come  in   at  the  moment.     "  What  a  dant  „* 
lad  you  are  !" 

"  None   of  your   business,"   said    the    hopefv 
boy.     "  She  is  our  servant,  not  yours." 

"  O  Gussy  !"  said  the  old  lady,  who,  by*  the  way, 
was  only  tolerated  in  the  house.  "  I  mean  the  risk 
you  have  just  run  of  getting  the  boiling  water 
over  you,  that's  all." 

"  Keep  your  talk  to  yourself,"  said  the  young 
est  youth.  "  Papa  told  you  and 'mamma  told 
you  to  interfere  with  us  no  more,  or  you  might 
go  some  place  else." 

"Say,  when  did  you  come?"  asked  the  eldest 
again,  moving  beside  Annie. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  with  her  work. 

"  Oh  !  she's  stuck  up,  she  is,"  said  the  young 
est,  throwing  a  smoothing-iron  into  the  water, 
causing  it  to  splash  up  on  the  poor  girl's  face  and 
arms. 

Annie  turned  to  the  old  lady,  and  said,  while 
her  lips  quivered : 

"  Pray,  madam,  tell  them  to  cease  tormenting 
me  this  way." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed ^both.  "Her  tell  us  tc 
stop.  She  has  no  more  right  here  than  you  have 
yourself,"  said  the  oldest. 

"  But  come  along,  Roy ;  papa  will  murder  us 
for  keeping  her  idle." 


Annie  Reilly.  163 

And  the  two  scampered  up-stairs,  and  amused 
their  mother,  first  by  relating  to  her  the  tricks 
which  "  Gussie  had  played  on  the  new  girl,"  and 
again  exciting  her  wrath  by  telling  her  that  their 
grandmother  had  interfered  with  them. 

At  nightfall,  Mr.  D.  G.  Phillips  came  home. 
He  was  a  small,  thin,  cross-grained  man,  with  an 
immense  black  mustache  and  a  bald  head.  Not 
a  bald  head  of  the  ordinary  kind,  however,  for 
we  dare  say  the  owner  of  the  "mansion  "  would 
scorn  that ;  but  a  crown  dotted  over  with  bare 
spots  here  and  there,  which,  if  put  together, 
would  leave  a  clear  space  extending  probably  to 
the  backs  of  his  ears. 

Annie  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  he  shot 
inside  with  such  force  that  she  peeped  through 
the  glass  to  see  if  any  person  outside  pitched  him 
in.  When  she  looked  around,  he  had  disappeared 
into  the  parlor,  and  she  could  hear  the  ring  of 
Mrs.  Phillips's  voice  as  she  rated  him  for  not  being 
home  sooner.  Annie  hurried  "down  to  her  duties, 
dreading  lest  she  might  hear  a  word  not  intended 
for  her  ears ;  but  as  we  are  not  so  scrupulous,  we 
w'll  stop  a  moment  and  see  the  cause  of  the  row. 

"  A  pretty  time  of  night  for  you  to  come  land 
ing  home,"  said  Mrs.  Phillips,  closing  the  novel 
she  had  been  reading,  as  her  husband  put  his 
head  inside  the  parlor  door. 


164  Annie  Reilly. 

"What  are  you  talking  about  night  for?"  said 
the  husband,  throwing  himself  on  the  worn  sofa. 
"  Are  you  prepared  for  me  this  evening  again?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  am  prepared  for  you,"  said  Mrs 
Phillips,  coming  close,  and  looking  down  on  him 
with  a  frown.  "  I  want  to  know  where  you  were 
till  this  time  of  night— night,  I  repeat.  I  know  I 
can't  believe  a  word  you  say,  but  I  insist  on  some 
answer." 

"  Business  in  the  office  delayed  me,"  said  he, 
with  an  ominous  look,  at  which  Mrs.  Phillips 
smiled  scornfully.  "  And  don't  tell  me  I  am  a 
liar  again.  It  ill  becomes  you  to  call  any  one  a 
liar.  Your  mother,  rot  her,  is  the  biggest." 

"  I'll  not  tolerate  this,  sir,"  exclaimed  she, 
stamping  her  foot  and  interrupting  him.  "  If 
anything  is  to  be  said  to  mother,  I'll  say  it." 

"  But  this  is  my  house,"  said  he  modestly. 

"Is  it  your  house?  Oh!  to  be  sure  it  is.  I 
am  no  better  than  a  servant  here,"  said  she,  with 
an  hysterical  laugh.  "  And  of  course  you  can 
come  in  or  go  out  any  hour  of  the  night  you  like." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  he. 

"  Why  not !"  echoed  she  with  a  yell  that  brought 
the  old  lady  up-stairs  in  a  second.  "  Oh  !  what 
treatment  for  me  to  bear.  He  openly  tells  me, 
mother,"  continued  she,  in  the  same  loud  voice, 
"  that  he'll  come  home  when  he  likes,  and  go  out 


Annie  Reilly.  165 

at  night  when  he  likes."  Here  a  flood  of  tears 
choked  her  utterance. 

"  I'd  put  the  seas  between  me  and  him,"  said 
the  mother-in-law,  shaking  her  head  furiously  at 
him. 

"  Merciful  God,  if  I  only  could !  "  said  the  son- 
in-law,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Lettie,  dear,  I'll  run  for  some  cold  water  ;  I 
think  you're  going  to  faint,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Oh  !  don't  leave  the  room  now,  I  beg  of  you," 
exclaimed  .the  sobbing  lady. 

"Oh!  dear,  oh!  dear.  Bless  my  soul,  he  has  a 
very  villanous  look  on  him  this  evening,"  said  the 
old  lady,  turning  back  and  looking  at  her  son-in- 
law,  who  certainly  did  not  look  very  agreeable,  with 
his  face,  mustache,  and  forehead  puckered  up  with 
an  expression  of  deep  pain.  "  Oh  !  my  soul  and 
body,"  continued  the  kind-hearted  old  lady,  wring 
ing  her  hands,  "  was  it  fo-  *liis  I  raised  and  edu 
cated — ahem  ! — my  dc^guter  in  the  best  style  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  expect  an  answer  to  this  impor 
tant  enquiry  from  some  person  hidden  up  in  the 
ceiling  ;  for  she  walked  the  floor  a  dozen  times, 
her  eyes  turned  upwards,  repeating  the  same 
question. 

The  expression  on  the  husband's  face  grew 
worse  as  he  watched  her,  and  his  wife's  tears  fell 
very  plentifully  and  comfortably,  as  she  sat  on  a 


1 66  Annie  Reilly* 

chair  opposite  her  husband,  with  her  head  turned 
away  from  him.  . 

"  If  I  were  you,  I'd  put  the  ocean  between  us," 
said  the  old  lady  again,  improving  on  her  favorite 
expression.  "  Let  us  pack  up  now,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Phillips  dried  her  tears  instantly,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet,  ordered  her  mother  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  What  business  have  you  in  the  parlor?"  taking 
her  by  the  shoulders.  "  Go  down-stairs,  and  wait 
till  you're  sent  for." 

As  the  worthy  daughter  turned  from  the  door 
after  putting  her  mother  outside,  she  thought, 
by  the  altered  look  of  her  husband,  that  he  was 
pleased  with  what  she  had  done.  And  as  please 
him  was  the  very  last  thing  on  earth  she  could 
think  of,  she  burst  into  tears  again,  and  called 
him  a  brute,  a  wretch  with  a  heart  like  flint  or 
steel,  and  numerous  other  .choice  names.  Mr. 
Phillips  bore  all  patiently  till  her  voice  grew 
hoarse,  when  she  took  the  little  dog  in  her  arms, 
and  went  up-stairs. 

At  length  Sunday  morning  came,  and  there  was 
a  great  bustle  of  preparation  in  the  "  mansion.'' 
A  celebrated  divine  of  Brooklyn,  Rev.  Dr.  Brass- 
man,  was  to  preach  in  the  Academy  of  Music  thai 
Sabbath.  He  was  the  family  pastor,  and  a  great 
favorite  with  Mrs.  Phillips. 


Annie  Reilly.  167 

Annie  worked  very  hard  during  the  morning, 
assisting  them,  and,  when  they  were  just  ready  to 
go  out,  the  mother-in-law  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  announced  they  were  half  an  hour  too  early  ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Phillips  detested  a  long  delay  in 
church,  except  her  favorite  preacher  was  there 
to  entertain  her,  they  sat  down  to  wait  till  the" 
proper  time. 

Now,  the  old  lady  was  one  of  those  very  sensi 
ble  people  who  try  and  make  the  very  best  use  of 
every  moment.  The  thought  that  now  might  be 
a  favorable  opportunity  to  convert  Annie  came 
into  her  head.  She  ventured  to  tell  her  son-in-law 
and  daughter  of  it,  and  was  greatly  delighted,  good 
soul,  to  find  they  did  not  snub  her. 

The  three  were  seated  in  the  parlor,  with  the 
two  boys  tumbling  over  each  other  on  the  floor 
beside  them.  Mrs.  Phillips  held  the  little  white 
<4pg  in  her  arms,  and  the  old  lady  sat  bolt  upright, 
waving  an  immense  black  fan. 

The  bell  rang,  and  Annie  appeared,  looking 
very  pale  and  beautiful,  having  just  dressed  her 
self  to  go  out  to  church. 

"  Ahem  !  Come  nearer  us  here,"  said  the  old 
lady,  putting  on  her  glasses.  "  We  want  to  talk 
a  little  with  you.  now  that  we  have  time." 

Annie  approached,  wondering  greatly  what  the 
cause  of  this  solemn  council  could  be. 


168  Annie  Reilly. 

"  You're  a  Romanist,  an't  you  ?"  began  the  old 
lady. 

"  I  am  a  Roman  Catholic,  madam,"  said  Annie, 
her  face  flushing. 

"Ah  !  yes  ;  the  greater  part  of  you  Irish  are," 
said  the  other.  "  But  don't  you  know  you  are 
astray  ?" 

"  No,  madam,  I  do  not,"  said  Annie.  "  The 
Catholic  Church  was  established  by  our  Lord 
himself.'' 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head  and  fan,  "  impossible — the  Cath 
olic  Church  founded  by  Christ !  Have  you  ever 
read  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  replied  Annie ;  "  it  was 
the  first  book  I  learned  to  read." 

"  Don't  tell  me  that,  girl,"  said  the  old  lady, 
looking  round  on  the  others.  "  Your  priests  for 
bid  you  to  read  the  Bible  ;  I  know  it." 

"  With  due  respect  for  your  knowledge,  ma 
dam,"  said  Annie  politely,  "  our  priests  do  no 
such  thing!  They  earnestly  recommend  every 
Catholic  to  read  the  Bible,  but  it  must  be  the 
Bible  complete  and  unadulterated." 

"  This  is  something  new  for  us,  '  said  the 
mother-in-law. 

"  It  is  by  no  means  new,  madam,"  replied 
Annie,  "  but  it  is  something  very  new  and  strange 


Annie  Reilly.  169 

to  me  to  hear  any  one  assert  that  priests  forbid 
the  use  of  the  Bible.  Our  parish  priest  in  Ire 
land,  so  anxious  was  he  every  family  should  have 
a  Bible,  that  he  supplied  those  himself  who  were 
unable  to  purchase  one." 

"  I  should  think  that  a  very  dangerous  game  for 
himself,"  said  Mrs.  Phillips,  patting  the  dog's  head. 

"  How,  madam,  may  I  ask?"  said  the  girl. 

"  Why,  then  you  would  all  see  the  folly  of  his 
pretensions,"  was  the  reply.  "  The  Bible  doesn't 
tell  you  he  can  forgive  your  sins  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Annie,  "  by  any  power 
of  his  own." 

"  And  by  whose  power,  then  ?"  put  in  Phillips, 
who  thought  he  had  been  long  enough  si'ent. 

"  By  the  power  of  God,  who  has  given  them 
that  authority,"  said  Annie. 

"  Oh !  they  all  say  that,"  said  the  mother-in- 
law  with  a  sneer.  "  Listen  to  me,  young  woman," 
she  added  earnestly.  "  Do  you  think,  because  our 
Lord  promised  that  power  to  his  apostles,  whom 
he  saw  and  conversed  with  every  day,  that  your 
priests  now,  after  the  lapse  of  eighteen  hundred 
years,  possess  the  same  power?" 

"  I  believe,"  said  Annie,  with  something  of  a 
smile  on  her  face,  "  that  our  Lord  can  do  now 
what  he  did  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  Time 
has  not  diminished  his  power." 


170  Annie  Reilly. 

"  I — I  know  that,"  said  the  old  lady,  fidgeting 
uneasily  in  her  chair ;  "  but  what  I  mean  to  say 
is,  he  gave  that  authority  to  his  disciples  only." 

"There  is  no  reason  for  saying  or  thinking  so," 
said  Annie.  "  Those  who  lived  at  that  time 
were  not  a  privileged  people,  more  than  that  they 
happened  to  be  on  earth  at  the  same  time  as  our 
Saviour.  He  came  to  save  all — not  one  genera 
tion — and  to  grant  all  salvation  through  the  same 
means." 

The  mother-in-law  was  biting  her  lip  and  twist 
ing  her  fingers,  thinking  of  what  she  would  say 
next,  when  Mrs.  Phillips  joined  in  with : 

"  Then  that  is  a  very  easy  way  to  reach  heaven 
— act  as  you  like,  and  then  go  to  your  priest  and 
get  forgiveness." 

"  Oh  !  no,"  said  Annie  ;  "  there  are  conditions 
necessary  for  a  good  confession." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  the  mother-in-law. 

"The  most  important  are,"  said  the  girl,  "a 
sincere  sorrow  for  the  faults  committed,  and  a 
strong  resolution  to  sin  no  more." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  old  lady,  pitching  her  head  for 
ward,  "  I  have  you  now.  You  say  our  Lord  came 
to  save  all,  and  yet  you  believe  all  except  Catho 
lics  will  be  lost." 

"What  I  said  was,"  replied  Annie,  "that  our 
Lord  came  to  redeem  all  through  the  same  means. 


Annie  Reilly.  171 

He  did  not  adopt  two  methods ;  and  I  say  now 
that  the  Catholic  Church  only  preserves  the  Scrip 
tures  unchanged." 

"Oh!  yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Phillips  spite 
fully,  "  that's  more  of  your  priests'  slander.  I 
don't  believe  they -do  a  thing  else  in  their  cha 
pels  on  Sunday  but  abuse  other  people." 

"  You  do  our  clergy  a  great  injustice,  madam," 
said  the  girl  warmly,  "  when  you  say  so.  They 
preach  the  Gospel  to  their  hearers,  pointing  out 
to  them  the  evils  they  are  to  avoid  and  the  vir 
tues  they  should  practise.  Now,  slander  is  a 
very  great  vice,  and  none  is  more  severely  con 
demned  by  our  priests." 

"  Ha !  but  they  tell  you  all  Protestants  will  go 
to  hell,  don't  they?"  asked  the  old  lady,  taking 
up  the  thread  of  the  argument. 

"  If  you  were  to  go  to  any  of  our  churches  on 
Sunday,"  said  Annie,  "you  would  think  there 
was  but  one  religion  in  the  world ;  because  our 
priests  instruct  their  people  in  the  doctrines  of 
their  own,  and  never  mention  the  name  of  Protes 
tant  or  any  others  who  differ  from  us." 

The    mother-in-law  drew  out  her  broad-faced 
watch,  and,  to  her  great  relief,  saw  it  was  time  to 
go  and  hear  the  Rev.  Dr.  Brassman ;  so  she  told 
Annie  that  at  some  future  period  she  would  con 
vince  her  of  her  error. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A    MODERN   CLERGYMAN. — REV.   DR.    BRASSMAN'S 
GREAT   ENTERPRISE. 

HE  Rev.  Dr.  Brassman  was  a  very  in 
defatigable  man,  not  alone  in  the 
service  of  God,  but  in  his  efforts  to 
make  a  name  here  on  earth.  The 
Rev.  Dr.  knew  as  well  as,  perhaps,  any  minister 
that  the  apostles  were  poor  and  lowly  men  who 
cared  not  for  this  world's  fame  ;  but  thinking  that, 
as  the  world  grows  older,  men  grow  wiser,  the 
same  poverty  and  humility  were  not  expected 
from  him.  That  the  apostles  preached  to  large 
multitudes  he  had  no  doubt,  but  saw  that  the 
language  which  gathered  large  crowds  in  those 
days  would  leave  him  an  empty  church  now. 

Of  this  he  was  more  fully  convinced  by  the  ex 
ample  of  a  brother  divine,  who  totally  ignored 
Gospel  preaching  in  his  pulpit,  and  delighted  his 
hearers  with  other  and  more  entertaining  infor 
mation.  In  this  he  was  very  successful,  as  the 
number  and  respectability  of  his  congregation 
went  to  show.  At  this,  Dr.  Brassman,  as  became 
a  pious  and  charitable  minister,  grew  very  envi- 


Annie  Reilly.  173 

* 

ous,  and  resolved,  at  all  hazards,  not  to  be  kept 
in  the  background. 

Dr.  Brassman  was  a  very  eloquent  gentleman, 
and  had  a  powerful  voice.  Even  in  his  calmest 
days,  before  the  desire  to  become  notorious  laid 
hold  of  him,  no  nervous  man  or  woman  who 
happened  to  kngw  his  church  would  venture  past 
while  he  was  in  the  pulpit. 

The  dogs  in  that  neighborhood  had  acquired 
such  a  habit  of  barking  incessantly  on  Sunday 
evenings  that  every  sensible  citizen  kept  his  can 
ine  muzzled  on  that  day. 

But  when  the  desire  to  outvie  his  celebrated 
brother  took  possession  of  his  head  and  lungs, 
the  streets  in  his  vicinity  began  to  depopulate, 
and  what  people  had  nerve  enough  to  remain  put 
their  dogs  into  the  cellar  before  the  terrible  roar 
broke  upon  the  air. 

Now,  it  may  seem  strange  how  any  one,  except 
they  were  born  deaf  as  a  stone,  could  stand  their 
ground  inside  the  church,  while  the  noise  affected 
men  and  animals  outside  so  much.  Well,  to  any 
man  or  woman  who  may  be  disposed  to  doubt 
these  truthful  lines,  we  say — and  he  may  go  and 
try  it,  if  he  chooses — that  it  is  much  easier  to 
withstand  the  yells  of  a  roaring  minister  inside 
his  temple  than  without. 

When  Mr.  Phillips  and  his  wife  and  mother-in- 


174  Annie  Reilly. 

• 

law  reached  the  Academy,  they  found  the  worthy 
minister  already  in  the  pulpit.  This  was  a  great 
relief  to  the  old  lady ;  for,  after  the  indifferent  suc 
cess  she  had  achieved  in  the  controversy  with 
Annie,  she  wanted  something  to  distract  her 
thoughts.  The  doctor  had  not  commenced  speak 
ing  yet,  and  sat  on  a  low  seat  within  the  pulpit, 
his  chin  resting  on  its  edge,  looking  placidly  on 
the  thickening  crowd.  His  head,  which  was  all 
of  him  that  could  be  seen,. was  a  very  peculiar 
one  indeed— very  short  and  small  behind,  bulged 
out  alarmingly  over  each  ear,  and  very  narrow  on 
the  crown.  His  face  was  very  long  and  straight, 
eyes  large  and  watery,  nose  short  and  turned 
down,  and  forehead  surprisingly  high  and  nar 
row.  When  he  saw  every  seat  filled,  he  rose 
slowly  and  with  dignity,  pushed  his  hair  up  in 
front  till  it  stood  on  ends,  looked  wildly  around, 
and,  striking  the  side  of  the  pulpit  heavily  with 
his  open  hand  till  the  building  echoed  again,  said, 
in  a  heavy  undertone: 

"  Brothers,  we  air  here  /<?^-day  " — puckers  up 
his  mouth,  throws  back  his  chest,  and  shakes  his 
head — "  saints  and  sinners.  The  little  bird  that 
tunes  its  lay  toe  heaven  speaks  a  lesson  of  wis 
dom  toe  us  all  toe-day."  A  little  higher  :  "  Why 
does  that  little  bird  sing?  Because" — louder — 
"  it  is  free  ;  free,  my  brethren,  toe  hop  from  branch 


Annie  Reilly.  175 

to  branch  " — sorrowfully — "  and  gather  up  for  its 
young  the  tiny  little  worm.  Again  " — his  very 
loudest — "  I  ask,  Why  does  that  little  bird  sing  ? 
Becau — au — au — ause  it  has  a  free  conscience," 
smiting  the  pulpit  again.  "  Becau — au — au — ause 
it  is  no  thief  who  steals.  Becau — au — au — ause 
it  is  no  liar  who  breeds  discord.  Becau — au — au 
— ause  it  is  no  drunkard  who  comes  home  late 
at  night."  (Mrs.  Phillips  nudged  her  husband) 
"  Becau — au — au — ause  that  little  bird  is  no  mur 
derer  who  shoots,  or  stabs,  or  beats  out  the 
brains  of  its  fellow-man."  (He  stops  and  drinks  ; 
the  mother-in-law  is  greatly  affected.)  "  The  beau 
tiful  parable — ahem  !  I  made  it  myself — which  I 
have  told  you  about  the  little  bird  reminds  me 
that  in  the  city  of  New  York,  that  hot-bed  of  sin, 
and  crime,  and  etarnal  drunkenness,  a  man  lies 
condemned  toe  die.  Great  efforts,  we  hear,  are 
being  made  by  that  man's  friends  toe  save  him  ; 
but  " — a  perfect  scream — "  what  did  the  old  law 
say  ?"  stamping  his  foot,  and  swinging  his  arms 
wildly  round  :  "An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth.  My  friends,  it  makes  my  heart  sad  when 
I  see  hardened  sinners  going  back  on  the  old  lav, 
in  this  way.  /Vlitical  £<?-ruption,  my  friends,  is 
at  the  bottom  of  this  and  every  other  evil  in  the 
land.  In  the  olden  times,  the  pure  old  times, 
the  people  had  no  Bill  Plunderfoots,  no  Dick 


1 76  Annie  Reilly. 

Bezzlers ;  an  d  if  they  had,  my  brethren,  what 
would  they  have  done  with  them.  Suppose,  my 
brethren,  when  Moses,  that  man  of  God  and  of 
decided  opinions,  was  leading  the  chosen  people 
through  the  bushes,  and  he  hacV  discerned  a  Bill 
Plunderfoot  in  the  camp,  what  would  that  up 
right,  uncompromising  man,"  clasping  his  hands 
and  looking  upwards,  "  have  done?  I'll  tell  you 
what  Moses,  who  knocked  the  ungodly  Egyptian 
on  the  head,  would  have  done.  He'd  have 
smote,"  shaking  his  fist  like  another  Moses, 
"  Bill  Plunderfoot  down — down  intoe  perdition 
straight  away.  If  any  man  says  toe  any  of  you, 
my  brethren,  that  Moses  wouldn't  have  come  out 
as  I  say,  tell  that  vile  man  he  lies"  Grows  fu 
rious.  "  Tell  that  scurvy  man  he's  in  error ;  tell 
that  man  he's  on  the  broad  road  that  leads  toe 
death ;  tell  that  blind  man  he's  going  toe  hell 
himself." 

The  learned  doctor  continued  in  this  very  edify 
ing  strain,  occasionally  varying  his  subject,  for  at 
least  two.  hours,  when  he  stopped  as  suddenly  as 
if  he  were  deprived  of  the  power  of  speech,  sat 
down  in  the  pulpit  so  quickly  that  one  might 
think  he  had  lost  the  power  of  his  limbs,  and 
drank  three  glasses  of  brown  water  in  succession. 
This  was  a  warning  to  his  flock  that  he  intended 
making  some  very  important  announcement,  so 


Annie  Rwlly.  177 


they  ictained  their  seats.  He  sat  for  a  few  min 
utes,  his  head  thrown  back,  eyes  and  mouth 
closed  tightly,  breathing  heavily  through  his 
nostrils. 

"  Something  staggering  must  be  coming," 
whispered  the  mother-in-law  to  her  daughter. 

At  length  he  rose,  straight  and  slowly,  like 
steam  ascending  from  a  bottle,  and,  when  he  had 
gained  his  full  height,  advanced  to  the  edge  of 
the  pulpit,  and  said: 

"  Brethren,  speaking  toe  you  of  the  old  law  in 
the  commencement  of  my  sermon  reminds  me 
now  that  we  should  practise  a  few  of  the  ceremo 
nies  of  the  times  gone  by.  That  fell  destroyer 
and  mad,  fierce,  unrelenting  fiend  fire  —  fire,  my 
friends  '  (an  old,  unmarried  lady  near  the  pulpit 
tries  to  faint,  but  fails,  and  three  little  girls  scream) 
—  "  fire,  my  brethren,  has  destroyed  our  taber 
nacle  wherein  we  used  to  all  mingle  our  sweet 
voices  in  salutation  and  praise.  The  old  spot  was 
dear  toe  us  all,  and  we  long  toe  cover  it  with  a 
sacred  roof  again.  You  have  all  subscribed  gen 
erously  towards  that  object,  but  as  yet  we  have 
far  from  enough  toe  complete  the  task. 

"  Let  us  again  turn  our  thoughts  toe  the  lit 
tle  bird,  toe  all  feathered  creation,  my  brethren. 
They  build  their  nests  now  as  they  did  a  thousand 
years  ago,  choose  their  mates  as  they  did  a 


178  Annie  Reilly. 

thousand  years  ago,  and  wear  the  same  plumage 
now  as  they  did  a  thousand  years  ago.  Now,  my 
friends,  let  us  draw  a  moral  from  the  feathered  in 
habitants  of  the  aerial  skies — a  moral,  my  friends; 
that  wifl  draw  us  some  funds.  From  this  congre 
gation,  brethren,  I  will  select  the  most  beautiful 
lady''  (the  old  maid  who  had  tried  to  faint  now 
tried  to  smile)  '•'  and  the  handsomest  young  gen 
tleman,  and  on  to-morrow  evening  marry  them  in 
the  good  old  costume  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
in  the  presence  of  as  many  as  choose  toe  pay  one 
dollar  each  admission." 

"Hear!  hear!  Bravo!  Bully  for  you !  Hur 
rah,"  shouted  the  men,  while  the  ladies  waved 
their  fans  and  handkerchiefs. 

"  I  wish  toe  add,"  said  the  preacher,  smiling, 
"  that  the  marriage  will  not  be  binding  except 
both  are  satisfied." 

The  old  maid,  who  had  risen  to  her  feet  in  the 
excitement,  threw  herself  back  in  her  seat  with  a 
deep  sigh,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Brassman  retired 
from  the  pulpit. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JAMES    O'ROURKE    AT    THE    OIL-FIELDS. — A 
SKETCH  OF  HIS  COMPANIONS. 

| HE  Pennsylvania  oil-fields  were  only  a 
short  time  in  operation  when  James 
O'Rourke  and  those  who  accompa 
nied  him  arrived  there.  A  number 
of  rude  huts,  of  rough,  unplaned  timber,  were  in 
course  of  construction  for  the  accommodation  of 
laborers,  and  one  or  two  had  just  been  completed. 
They  were  not  built  with  much  view  to  comfort, 
and  were  but  poorly  adapted  to  keep  out  the 
cold  and  storms  of  winter,  which  had  already  set 
in  ;  but  the  air  was  pure,  and  this,  after  his 
experience  in  a  city  boarding-house,  made  James 
overlook  every  other  disadvantage. 

The  men  employed  in  the  fields  were  from 
every  part  of  America  and  Europe,  and  were 
for  the  most  part  a  very  reckless  set  of  fellows, 
who  cared  for  nothing  but  drinking,  carousing, 
and  fighting.  But  James  kept  apart  from  them 
as  much  as  possible,  taking  no  part  in  their  con 
versation  during  the  day,  and  in  the  evenings 
sitting  alone  by  himself,  thinking  of  home. 


180  Annie  Reilly. 

A  source  of  great  trouble  to  him  was,  he  could 
hear  of  no  chapel  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
He  made  repeated  enquiries  among  the  laborers, 
but  none  of  them  knew  anything  of  such  a  place, 
or  cared,  to  use  the  words  of  one,"  if  there  wasn't 
a  chapel  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

The  man  who  made  this  remark  was  a  young 
Irishman  only  a  few*  years  from  the  old  land.  He 
had  heard  old  vagabonds  talk  in  this  way,  and 
thought  it  very  manly  to  imitate  them. 

"  You  don't  care  if  there  wasn't  a  chapel  in 
the  world  ?"  repeated  James,  with  a  look  in 
which  were  blended  scorn  and  pity. 

"  No  ;  why  the  divil  should  I  ?"  replied  Dooley 
— for  such  was  his  name — stuffing  half  a  paper  of 
tobacco  into  his  mouth. 

"  You  are  a  Catholic,  are  you  not  ?"  asked 
James. 

"  Yis ;  they  used  to  call  me  that  in  Ireland ; 
but  I'm  nothin'  at  all  now." 

"  And  why  have  you  seen  fit  to  change  to 
much  here?"  asked  the  other. 

"  Religion,  I  see,  is  only  a  humbug.  I  had 
very  little  sinse  in  Ireland.  Augh,  Lord  !  sure 
the  people  there  know  nothin'  at  all."  And  he 
pushed  the  old  cap  to  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
tried  to  look  very  knowing. 

"  Am   I   to  believe  you  are  in  earnest  in  what 


Annie  Reilly*  181 

you  say  ?"  asked  James,  looking  at  him  atten 
tively — "  believe  that  you,  a  young  man  not  long 
from  Ireland,  have  completely  turned  your  back 
on  the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  ?" 

"  In  troth,  and  'pon  me  sowl,  ye  may  shwear  it 
that  I  mane  every  word  I  say.  I  seen  the  toime 
I  thought  the  ground  'id  open  and  swallow  me 
up  for  even  thinkin'  the  loikes ;  but  I  tell  ye,  a 
man  soon  gets  brave  in  America." 

"  Do  you  call  it  bravery,''  asked  James,  "  to 
dread  to  acknowledge  your  creed,  the  creed  of 
your  forefathers,  because  those  around  you  de 
spise  religion  ?  Brave  !  Why,  you  are  the  meanest 
of  all  cowards !" 

"  What  do  I  care  what  me  forefathers  belaved, 
or  what  me  father  or  mother  belaves  either.  I 
must  look  out  for  meself  now.  Phat's  any  one  in 
the  world  to  me  but  meself?" 

"  If  a  dog  could  speak,''  said  James  angrily, 
"  I  dare  say  he  would  say  the  very  same  thing. 
He  cares  for  no  one  but  himself."  But  checking 
his  passion,  he  went  on  :  "  Surely  you  don't  think 
you'll  thrive  any  the  better  here  by  turning  your 
back  on  your  religion  ?" 

"  Divil  a  much  meself  cares  for  money,"  was 
the  answer,  "  if  I  can  get  a  bit  to  ate,  and  a 
dhrink  of  whisky  while  I  am  in  it ;  that's  all  I 
care  for." 


1 82  Annie  Reilly. 

"  So  you're  a  drunkard,  too,"  said  James,  nod. 
ding  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  I  can  sthand  more  gin  on  a  Saturday  night 
than  any  other  man  in  the  diggins,"  was  the  an 
swer.  "  When  I  began  to  dhrink  first,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  thought  I'd  niver  be  able  to 
keep  up  to  the  rest  ov  the  boys ;  it  used  to  give 
me  a  headache  ;  and  thin  I'd  be  thinkin'  of  phat 
ould  Father  Philip  used  to  say  about  drunkards 
long  ago,  and  phat  me  father  and  mother  id  think 
if  they  only  hard  it ;  but  I  soon  got  over  that ; 
and  so  will  you  too,  me  boy,  come  all  right  in  the 
ind;  and  be  one  of  the  best  fellahs  in  the  fields 
one  ov  these  days."  And  he  slapped  the  other  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Sit  down  again,  and  listen  to  me  for  a  mo 
ment,"  said  James. 

"  Come  and  have  something  to  dhrink ;  me 
throat's  dhry  afther  so  much  talk,"  said  the 
other. 

"  You  know  very  well,"  said  James,  turning 
away  his  head,  "  I  am  no  drinker.  Have  patience 
for  a  little." 

"  Ail  right,  young  fellah,  but  don't  say  any. 
thing  to  make  me  drier,  or  I  can't  st'harhi  it." 

Janes  did  not  heed  this  remark,  but  went  on : 

"  You  are  a  young  man  yet,  and  have  the  world 
before  you  ;  and  just  ask  yourself  the  question,  Is 


Annie  Reilly.  183 

now  not  the  proper  time  for  you  to  prepare  for 
old  age  ?  In  these  fields,  and  in  every  other 
work  in  America  where  a  number  of  men  are  em 
ployed,  how  many  are  able  to  work  ?  By  right, 
not  one-half.  It  is  pitiful  to  see  so  many  old, 
weakly,  worn-out  creatures,  as  I  may  call  them, 
struggling  to  do  hard  labor,  with  possibly  not  five 
years  of  existence  before  them  ;  not  one  bit  bet 
ter  than  old  horses.  And  what  makes  it  sad 
der  still  is  that  the  greater  part  of  them  have 
themselves  only  to  blame  for  their  misery.  When 
they  were  strong,  when  work  was  no  burden  to 
them,  they  took  care  neither  of  themselves  nor 
of  their  earnings  ;  ruining  their  health  with  bad 
whisky,  for  which  they  squandered  their  money." 

"  Ah,  phat's  life  to  a  man  without  he  has  some 
pleasure?"  said  the  other,  interrupting  him.  "And 
I  don't  see  anything  else  there's  so  much  pleasure 
*  in  as  a  glass  of  whisky." 

"  Pleasure?"  said  James.  "  Why,  you  were  lis 
tening  to  that  old  man,  that  works  in  the  gang 
with  me,  talking  last  night,  were  you  not  ?" 

"  Phat  old  man  ?  Oh  !  yes— ould  Mickey  that 
was  saying  he's  twenty-five  years  in  the  country 
But  he's  a  mane  whinger,  anyway." 

"  He  spends  all  his  money  the  same  as  you  do, 
at  any  rate,"  said  James  ;  "  and  his  shirt  is  no  bet 
ter  or  cleaner  than  your  own." 


184  Annie  Reilly. 

"  Ay,  but,"  said  the  other,  in  an  injured  way, 
"  he  takes  the  whole  good  out  ov  the  thing  by 
cryin'  over  it." 

"  He  knows,"  said  James,  "  that  in  a  very  short 
time  he'll  not  be  able  to  clutch  the  spade,  and 
that  there  is  nothing  before  him  but  die  of  want. 
The  man  has  become  an  habitual  drunkard,  and 
now  is  powerless  to  save  himself.  To  advise  or 
reason  with  any  one  reduced  to  his  state  is  use 
less  ;  but  we  can  learn  a  lesson  from  his  folly. 
Drink,  he  tells  us,  is  no  longer  a  pleasure  to 
him  ;  'tis  a  hell  from  which  he  cannot  escape.  It 
has  lowered  him  from  the  rank  of  a  human  being, 
and  left  him  nothing  better  than  an  animal.  The 
only  feeling  in  his  heart  is  regret." 

"  The  divil  a  bit  of  me  is  ivir  sorry,"  said  the 
other,  in  a  careless  way.  "  Whin  the  money's 
gone,  I  say,  let  it  go." 

"  Why,  he  says  he  felt  in  like  manner  when  he 
took  to  drink,"  said  O'Rourke  ;  "  or,  to  use  his 
own  words,  '  Was  as  light-hearted  without  a  penny 
as  when  he'd  have  fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket.' 
But  the  man  was  strong  to  earn  more  then  ;  he 
could  not  look  forward  to  the  day  when  that 
strength  would  fail  him." 

"  Augh !  I  say,'  replied  Dooley,  with  a  twist 
of  his  body,  "  whin  a  man  isn't  fit  to  work,  it 
makes  little  matther  what  comes  of  him.  He  is 


Annie  Rlilly.  185 

afther  havin'  his  day;  I  wouldn't  mind  how  I 
spint  the  last  few  years  of  me  days,  if  toimes  were 
good  up  to-that." 

"  I  little  thought,  of  all  people  in  the  world,' 
said  James,  "  that  an  Irishman  could  be  found  to 
use  such  an  expression — to  show  himself  so  utte» 
ly  wanting  in  every  honorable  feeling.  Picture 
to  yourself  what  you  would  then  be,  and  what 
you  will  be  if  you  don't  take  heed — scorned  and 
despised  by  every  one,  crawling  around,  a  thing 
with  life  in  it,  no  more;  a  burden  to  yourself  and 
to  the  world." 

"  Oh !  be  me  sowl,  its  preachin'  a  sarmon  ye 
are ;  and,  as  I  don't  care  for  lecthers.  I'll  go  and 
have  me  whisky." 

James  looked  sorrowfully  after  him,  as  his  man 
ly  but  ragged  figure  disappeared  into  the  door  of 
the  little  rum-shop,  and  thought  to  himself  what  a 
woful  blight  to  his  countrymen  in  America  love 
of  such  places  proved. 

In  a  few  days  after  the  foregoing  conversation 
a  native  of  Pennsylvania  State  came  to  work  in 
the  fields;  and  from  him  O'Rourke  learned  that 
a  long  way  off,  beyond  the  blue  hills,  a  chapel 
could  be  found.  The  following  Saturday  night, 
when  the  laborers  were  enjoying  themselves  as 
usual,  he  set  off  in  the  direction  indicated,  his 
heart  full  of  joy  at.  the  prospect  of  hearing  Mas? 
in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

STRANGE  OCCURRENCES  IN  THE  "  MANSION."— 
HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A  MOTHER-IN-LAW. — -ANNIE 
RECEIVES  A  LETTER  FROM  HOME. 

]NNIE  lived  at  the  "  mansion  "  a  little 
over  a  month,  bearing  patiently  with 
every  hardship  and  insult,  but  always 
bravely  and  intelligently  defending  her 
race  and  creed  against  the  repeated  attacks  of  the 
mother-in-law  and  her  daughter. 

She  had  written  to  her  father  and  mother  the 
evening  before  leaving  Patrick  Sweeny's,  giving  a 
long  account  of  her  voyage,  and  telling  them 
what  great  friends  she  met  with  on  her  arrival 
in  New  York.  With  what  anxiety  she  waited  for 
an  answer,  giving  the  ship  which  carried  her  note, 
and  the  one  that  bore  the  reply,  the  shortest  pos 
sible  time  to  cross  the  ocean.  From  the  hour 
she  expected  the  letter,  till  three  days  later,  when 
Kitty  Brady  walked  in  with  it,  a  cheerful  smile  on 
her  face,  Annie  was  in  the  height  of  grief,  imagin 
ing  the  most  terrible  things  had  caused  the  delay. 
It  happened,  fortunately,  she  was  alone,  the  old 
and  young  lady  having  gone  out  for  a  walk- 


Annie  ReiUy.  187 

Annie  caught  the  letter  from  Kitty's  hand,  and, 
recognizing  her  brother's  writing,  kissed  the  ad 
dress  fervently.  Her  hands  trembled,  and,  dread 
ing  she  would  tear  the  letter  in  opening  it, 
requested  the  other  to  open  and  read  it  for  her. 
Kitty  stood  over  by  the  window,  and,  with 
Annie's  head  resting  on  her  shoulder  looking 
down  at  the  words,  read  as  follows : 

"AUGUST  15,  186-. 

"  MY  DEAR,  DEAR  SlSTER  : 

"  To-day,  the  Feast  of  the  Assumption,  we  be 
sought  the  Queen  of  heaven  to  watch  over  you  in 
a  far-off  land.  This  blessed  day  our  prayers  were 
all  for  you,  Annie,  at  home  and  before  the  altar. 
Since  you  left  us,  this  is  the  first  time  mother  has 
been  to  the  chapel ;  but  to-day  I  assisted  her  there, 
that  she  might  kneel  at  the  Virgin's  feet  for  our 
darling  Annie.  Since  her  return,  she  has  felt  much 
better  than  at  any  time  since  we  lost  our  home. 
Father  goes  to  the  chapel  every  evening  now,  to 
pray  for  you,  Annie.  We  were  greatly  delighted 
to  learn  from  your  letter  that  you  reached  the  end 
of  your  long  journey  safely,  and  that  you  met 
with  such  friends  in  New  York.  God's  bless 
ing  on  all  who  are  kind  to  poor,  little,  lonely 
Annie  !  O  Annie  dear !  I  thought  my  heart 
would  break  this  morning  when  the  procession 


1 88  Annie  Reilly. 

moved  down  from  the  altar,  and  your  gentle  face 
was  not  amongst  the  bright  throng.  Of  all  your 
friends  here,  not  one  is  more,  sincerely  sorry  after 
you  than  Mr.  Lacy.  When  I  meet  him,  his  eyes 
fill  up,  and  he  passes  by  without  saying  a  word  ; 
and  yet  often  when  father  and  I  are  absent,  he 
comes  to  see  mother,  and  talks  to  her  of  you. 
Between  him  and  Nancy  Brady,  she  is  recovering 
quickly  from  the  blow  our  double  misfortune  has 
been  to  her.  Nancy  was  extremely  delighted  to 
hear  your  praise  of  Kitty's  goodness  to  you. 
She  has  taken  it  into  her  head  now  that  Kitty 
must  come  home  and  see  her. 

"  The  day  after  you  left  us,  Annie,  I  went  to 
the  castle,  and  found  employment,  and  we  are  now 
living  in  one  of  the  little  cottages  I  mentioned  to 
you  that  night  by  the  pond.  Martha's  manner 
towards  mother  was  never  worse  than  the  day 
you  went  away  ;  so  I  determined  we  should  live 
in  her  house  as  short  a  time  as  possible.  Father 
is  greatly  changed.  He  is  no  longer  lively,  anJ. 
walks  about  with  his  head  down,  speaking  to  or 
noticing  nobody.  He  had  a  habit  of  going  out 
•/cry  early  in  the  morning  the  first  week  or  so 
after  your  departure.  What  he  could  be  doing 
abroad  at  that  hour  surprised  me.  So  I  followed 
him  one  morning  to  the  top  of  the  demense  hill 
which  you  know  overlooks  our  old  home,  where 


Annie  Reilly.  189 

he  sat  down  on  a  stone,  and,  turning  his  eyes  in 
that  direction,  began  to  cry.  I  begged  him  to 
tell  me  what  brought  him  there.  He  told  me  he 
found  great  consolation  in  coming  there,  for  lie 
could  look  down  on  the  old  cottage,  and  picture 
you  to  himself  walking  in  the  little  garden  or  in 
the  green  fields  around.  And,  O  Annie !  at  that 
moment  I  could  not  say  he  was  doing  wrong. 
The  old,  old,  once  happy  home  was  before  my 
eyes.  I  -saw  you  as  you  used  to  stand  by  the 
door  looking  out  on  the  river.  The  path  leading 
to  its  banks,  along  which  you  and  I  so  often  ran, 
looked  so  familiar  and  friendly  to  me  that  your 
figure  stood  in  its  every  winding.  Soon  my  own 
eyes  filled,  and  I  again  begged  father  to  come 
away,  but  in  vain.  He  desired  me  to  return  to 
mother,  but  mention  nothing  of  where  I  had  left 
him. 

"  Now,  Annie,  from  what  I  have  told  you,  you 
must  not  think  we  are  very  miserable  here.  True, 
our  sorrow  that  you  are  gone  from  us  is  very 
great  indeed,  but  your  letter  helped  to  calm  it 
very  much,  jiow  that  you  have  the  danger  of  the 
ocean  over  you. 

'*  Now,  sister,  about  your  sending  us  help  from 
there,  let  me  tell  you,  and  believe  me,  Annie,  I 
am  able  to  earn  sufficient  to  keep  us  comfortably 
till  you  have  supplied  yourself  with  everything 


Annie  Reilly. 


you  need.  And,  Annie,  when  with  God's  help  I 
have  managed  to  leave  father  and  mother  a  little 
something,  I  will  go  to  you,  and  both  of  us  will,  I 
trust,  be  able  then  to  keep  them  comfortable.  I 
know,  dear  Annie,  it  is  quite  useless  to  remind  you 
of  what  you  owe  to  God,  but  you  will  pardon  a 
brother's  anxiety.  I  have  done  now,  Annie,  and 
pray  the  choicest  blessings  of  Heaven  may  fall 
upon  you.  Father  and  mother  send  their  bless 
ings  to  you,  Annie. 

"  Your  loving  brother, 

"  FRANCIS  REILLY." 

During  the  reading  of  the  letter,  poor  Annie's 
tears  fell  incessantly  ;  and  Kitty,  too,  was  so 
much  affected  that  she  was  compelled  to  stop  a 
few  times  to  clear  her  eyes. 

"  Now,  Annie,"  said  she,  handing  the  letter  to 
her,  "  is  not  that  much  better  news  than  you 
expected?" 

"  Oh  !  but  think  of  their  unhappy  state  with 
all,"  said  Annie  through  her  tears.  "  My  poor 
mother,  I  know,  will  break  her  heart  to  see  Fran 
cis  working  for  any  one  ;  and  my  poor  father  — 
think  of  him  wandering  away  to  the  hill-top  at 
break  of  day  to  look  down  on  the  old  home  ! 
When  he  takes  the  loss  of  it  so  much  to  heart,  I'll 
soon  hear  of  his  death." 


Annie  Reilly. 


"  Why,  no,  Annie,"  said'  Kitty  ;  "  your  mother 
has  better  sense  than  fret  over  such  a  thing  as 
Francis  earning  a  living  at  the  castle  for  a  time, 
when  you  tell  her  how  well  he  can  do  here,  and 
the  short  time  'twill  be  till  he's  here  with  you. 
You  see,  Annie,  how  your  people  will  do  at  home 
in  a  great  measure  depends  upon  how  you  get 
along  here.  Now,  what  a  happiness  'twill  be  to 
you  to  have  your  brother  here  with  you  !  Just 
think  of  that,  and  make  ft  an  object  to  be  gained. 
Think  how  happy  'twill  make  your  fatho  and 
mother  to  receive  good,  cheerful  letters  from  you. 
And  when  you  are  well,  let  them  know  ;  never 
tell  them  you  are  fretting  ;  and  if  you  have  one 
true  friend  in  the  world,  mention  it  to  them.  I 
say  this  to  you  now,  Annie,  because  I  know  you 
will  not  delay  in  writing  again,  and  'twill  make 
you  so  happy  yourself  to  think  you  are  making 
your  people  happy." 

"  God  bless  you,"  said  Annie,  kissing  her  friend, 
"  for  that  good  advice.  I  will  write  as  cheering 
a  letter  as  I  can.  But,  Kitty,  what  do  you  say  to 
your  mother  being  anxious  to  have  you  pay  her 
a  visit  ?  Do  you  intend  going  ?" 

"I'll  think  over  that,"  said  the  other;  "'tis 
a  long  time  till  summer  yet.  This  is  the  first 
time  mother  has  mentioned  the  like  since  I  came 
to  America.  You  must  have  said  something 


192  Annie  Reilly. 

about  me  in  your  letter  that  made  her"  take  such 
a  notion." 

Annie  smiled,  and  was  about  to  make  some 
reply,  when  a  violent  ringing  of  the.  door-bell, 
again  and  again  repeated,  alarmed  them.  She 
ran  to  the  door,  and,  when  she  opened  it,  the 
rpother-in-law,  her  head  very  erect,  and  a  tear  in 
each  eye,  glided  into  the  hall.  Annie  drew  back 
into  the  parlor  door;  for  the  look  and  manner 
of  the  old  lady  was  very  alarming.  She  looked 
wildly  up  the  stairs,  ran  to  the  head  of  the  base 
ment  ones,  held  her  ear  downwards  in  a  listening 
attitude,  ran  back,  glared  at  the  girl,  and  "asked, 
as  she  shook  her  head  fiercely : 

"  Has  my  daughter  returned  yet  ?" 

"  She  has  not,"  said  Annie,  moving  further 
into  the  room.  "  I  hope  nothing  is  wrong, 
madam  ?" 

"  Don't  question  me ;  I  don't  tolerate  it  from 
a  servant,"  was  the  kind  reply.  And  she  went 
to  the  door,  and  tried  to  look  out  through  the  glass. 
Annie  did  not  venture  to  speak  again  ;  and,  when 
she  saw  the  old  lady  peering  into  the  street,  ran 
down  and  joined  Kitty. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  leave  you  now,  Annie," 
said  that  young  lady.  ''Don't  neglect  coming 
over  on  Sunday  evening,  and  Miss  Sweeny  and 
you  and  I  will  go  to  Vespers  together." 


Annie  Reilly.  193 

"  Oh  !  pray  don't  leave  me  alone  here  yet,'; 
said  Annie  earnestly.  "  Something  is  the  matter 
with  the  old  lady.  She  has  just  come  in,  and 
looks  terrible.  I  would  die  here  if  you  left  me 
alone." 

"  I'll  wait  a  little  while,  then,"  said  Kitty, 
"  but  not  long." 

Another  jingling  of  the  bell,  followed  by  a 
sharp  kick  on  the  outside  of  the  door ;  Annie 
sprang  to  open  it,  and  in  came  Mrs.  Phillips,  her 
face  flushed,  her  mouth  set,  and  her  eyes  fiery. 

"  Where  is  that  old — "  But  catching  a  glimpse 
of  her  mother  in  the  parlor,  she  dashed  in,  and 
shouted  hoarsely,  "  How  dare  you,  how  dare 
you,  I  repeat,  come  into  my  house  when  I  have 
expressly  forbidden  you  to  do  so?" 

"  I'll  explain  to  you,  Lettie,  if  you  only  have 
patience,  that  'twas  all  a  mistake,"  said  the 
mother,  trembling. 

"  No  explanation  will  do,"  said  the  other, 
stamping  furiously,  and  scratching  at  her  face. 
"  You  have  done  the  job,  and  there's  no  remedy 
but  prevent  you  ever  getting  '  a  show  '  to  do  the 
like  again.  Oh  !"  and  she  wrung  her  hands,  and 
champed  her  teeth,  "  to  tell  Mrs.  Howard  Roy 
Plantagenet  that  I  worked  in  a  factory  in  Eng 
land  !" 

"  Ah !  let  me  say  one  word,  Lettie,  just  one," 


194  Annie  Reilly. 

and  the  mother  threw  up  her  hands  to  keep  her 
infuriated  daughter  back,  "  and  then  you'll  see 
that  wasn't  what  I  said  at  all.  You're  the  cause 
of  all  the  shame  yourself,  to  strike  me  with  your 
parasol  before  so  many  ladies." 

"  You  would,  if  you  dare,  you  old  disgrace,  like 
to  throw  all  the  blame  on  me  ;  but  I  am  deter 
mined  to  get  rid  of  you  now."  And — shall  we  re 
cord  it  ? — catching  her  by  the  shoulder,  "  Here, 
now,  leave  my  '  mansion '  this  moment,  and  go 
into  the  streets,  where  you  ought  to  be.  The 
idea  of  me  thinking  to  be  as  good  as  Mrs. 
Howard  Roy  Plantagenet  or  any  other  lady  in 
the  city,  and  keeping  the  like  of  you  to  tell 
my  history  to  them  !" 

"  I  beg  of  you,  my  child,  do  not  cast  me  out  in 
my  old  days,"  pleaded  the  mother,  turning  her 
eyes,  with  a  strange  white  look,  on  her  daughter. 
"  I  don't  deserve  it  of  you." 

"  Oh  !  no,"  said  the  other,  grinning  into  her 
face,  "  I  suppose  if  anybody  was  here  you'd  tell 
them  how  you  struggled  in  poverty  and  hunger 
to  raise  me,  wouldn't  you  ?  Come  on,  now." 

"  Ah  !  Lettie,  let  me  alone  till  your  husband 

comes  home,  and  then  I'll  leave  all  to  him  ;  and 
if " 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Lettie,  giving  her  a  shake, 
"  let  him,  too,  know  I  was  a  factory  girl  in  Eng- 


Annie  Reilly.  195 

land  ?  Then,"  and  she  laughed  bitterly,  "  my 
power  over  him  would  soon  be  gone,  along  with 
my  pride  before  Mrs.  Plantagenet.  Ah  !  no  ;  I'll 
be  rid  of  you  before  that." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  put  me  from  your  house  ?' 
said  the  mother,  facing  her. 

"  This  moment,  now,  you  old — " 

"  Before  I  go,"  shouted  the  mother,  clutching 
her  by  the  hair,  "  I  say  you  have  worked  in  a  fac 
tory,  and  that  I  worked  there  to  support  you,  and 
starved  myself  to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Phillips  was  mad.  She  knew  Annie  heard 
the  shout,  and,  seizing  her  mother  by  the  hair, 
dragged  her  to  the  door,  and  pushed  her  down 
the  steps. 

Annie  and  Kitty  were  nearly  wild  from  fright. 
The  desperate,  unnatural  act  seemed  to  them 
like  a  dream. 

Mrs.  Phillips  hastily  closed  the  door  and  par 
lor-blinds,  and  rang  for  Annie. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Kitty,  "  when  you  go  up,  that 
'you  are  going  to  leave.  Now,  mind." 

"Oh!  yes,  I  shall,"  said  Annie;  "but  I  am 
afraid  to  venture  near  her." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  other ;  "  I'll  wait  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs'  here." 

Annie,  trembling,  went  up  to  the  room,  and, 
without  giving  her  good  mistress  time  to  issue 


196  Annie  Reilfy. 

any  orders,  told  her  she  was  going  to  leave  im 
mediately,  and  hurried  down  again.  Kitty  as 
sisted  her  in  getting  her  articles  ready,  and  both 
set  out  for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
O'ROURKE'S  FORTUNES  BEGIN  TO  IMPROVE. 

| HE  journey  to  the  little  frame  chapel 
amongst  the  Pennsylvania  hills  was 
so  long  and  tedious  that,  travel  as  he 
would,  James  could  never  reach  there 
before  Mass  had  commenced,  till  at  length  the 
good  pastor,  Father  Fitzsimons,  noticing  his 
bright,  intelligent  face  .and  becoming  manner  in 
church,  resolved  to  have  a  conversation  with  him, 
and  from  thenceforth  service  was  delayed  every 
Sunday  morning  till  he  would  arrive. 

Father  Fitzsimons  became  a  great  friend  to 
him,  lending  him  books  to  read  in  the  evenings, 
and  allowing  his  father's  letters  to  come  in  his 
care.  This  kindness  from  one  whom  he  respected 
so  much  was  a  great  consolation  to  James,  and 
helped  him  to  bear  up  against  the  hardships 
anJ  piivations  of  his  position;  for  although  he 
cared  little  for  the  toil  of  the  fields,  yet  the  wild 
and  reckless  class  amongst  whom  he  lived  was  a 
source  of  great  pain  to  him. 

During  his  first  few  weeks  there,  when  the 
day's  work  was  over,  he  would  wander  away 


198  Annie  Reilly. 

alone,  and  sit  in  some  quiet  spot  where  he  might 
not  hear  the  curses,  foul  language,  and  drunken 
shouts  of  the  others,  and  think  of  Ireland,  with  its 
quiet  plains,  gentle  mountains  and  rivers,  and  green 
hills  with  tall  chapel-spires  peeping  over  their  tops 
— an  emblem  of  its  people's  devotion  to  God  and 
the  Catholic  Church.  His  mind  would  wander 
away  back  to  the  time  when  Francis  Reilly  and 
he  used  to  carry  little  Annie  to  the  school ;  to  the 
delight  it  caused  when  she  clasped  her  tiny  arms 
around  his  neck  as  he  lifted  her  over  some  dan 
gerous  part  of  the  road,  and  with  what  caution 
he  used  to  watch  lest  Francis  would  deprive  him 
of  the  pleasure.  Thus  his  memory  would  trace 
every  incident  of  their  happy  lives  up  to  the  last 
evening  by  the  river's  bank.  Then  he  would 
vainly  try  to  shut  out  the  recollection  of  his 
trials  and  fears  since  then,  and  hope  that  one  day 
Annie's  face  would  smile  on  him  again.  But  the 
misery  of  his  own  present  state,  and  the  dread 
of  what  may  have  befallen  her,  clouded  the  hope  ; 
and,  with  as  sad  a  heart  as  ever  beat  within  a 
breast,  O'Rourke  would  return  to  his  hut;  and 
so  much  did  those  bitter  thoughts  take  hold  of 
his  mind  that  he  often  lay  insensible  to  shouts, 
and  uproar,  and  fighting  around  him.  But  when 
he  began  to  read  the  good  books  supplied  him 
by  Father  Fitzsimons,  these  gloomy  thoughts 


Annie  Reilly  igg 

gradually  brightened  somewhat,  and  a  new  life 
seemed  to  open  up  before  him. 

Of  all  the  men  in  the  fields,  he  was  the  most 
attentive  to  his  business,  and  never  during  the 
allotted  hours  for  work  idled  away  a  moment. 
This,  amongst  so  many  who  acted  differently, 
could  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  proprietor  of 
the  field.  This  latter,  Mr.  Lewis,  was  a  very 
amiable,  just,  polite  American  gentleman,  who 
always  made  it  a  rule  to  reward  honesty  and  in 
dustry  without  regard  to  creed  or  nationality. 
It  was  his  custom  to  make  a  round  of  his  men 
thrice  every  day :  shortly  after  they  went  to  work 
in  the  morning,  at  noon,  and  again  towards  the 
close  of  the  day.  He  was  not  a  man  to  act  on  an 
impulse.  Before  taking  a  step,  he  waited  and 
satisfied  himself  fully  that  it  would  not  prove  an 
injudicious  one. 

For  some  weeks  after  O'Rourke's  arrival  at  the 
fields,  Mr.  Lewis,  in  his  daily  rounds,  passed  him 
by  unnoticed.  But  by-and-by,  James  began  to 
observe  him  letting  his  eye  rest  on  him  a  little 
more  than  usual.  At  first  he  paid  no  attention 
to  this,  thinking  probably  the  gentleman  only 
remarked  him  as  a  stranger.  One  day,  however, 
he  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  well,  looking 
on  at  the  work  as  usual,  and  the  others  were 
laboring  with  might  and  main  for  the  time,  when 


Annie  Reilly. 


James  happened  to  raise  his  eyes  in  that  direc 
tion,  and  saw  Mr.  Lewis  regarding  him  very  at 
tentively.  James  resumed  his  work,  but,  in  a  few 
minutes,  Mr.  Lewis  came  over  to  him,  and  said  : 

"  Young  man,  I  wish  to  see  you  during  the 
evening  ;  don't  be  out  of  the  road,''  and  turned 
away  without  giving  the  other  time  to  speak. 

Accordingly,  when  work  was  over,  instead  of 
hiding  himself  from  sight  with  his  book,  he  waited 
within  view  of  .the  little  wooden  office,  till  Mr. 
Lewis  came  to  the  door  and  beckoned  him  inside. 
The  gentleman  was  alone,  and,  returning  to  the 
chair  from  which  he  had  risen,  crossed  his  legs  as 
James  entered,  and  told  him  to  sit  down. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  were  the  first  words,  "  how 
do  you  like  oil-digging?" 

"  Oh  !  I  like  the  work  very  well,  sir,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Yes;  but  there  is  something  else  you  don't 
like  quite  so  well,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a 
smile.  "  They  are  rough  fellows,  those  diggers." 

"  I  can  get  along  with  them  very  well,  sir,"  said 
James. 

"  Yes  ;  but  don't  you  think  you  could  get  along 
better  at  something  else?  You  write  a  good 
hand,  do  you?" 

"  I'll  show  you  a  specimen,  if  you  please,  sir," 
said  James,  greatly  delighted. 


Annie  Reilly.  201 

"  Well,"  said  the  other  carelessly,  drawing  a 
sheet  of  paper  from  the  drawer  at  his  hand,  and 
throwing  it  on  the  desk,  "  move  your  chair  over 
here,  and  let  me  see  what  you  can  do.  Just  make 
a  copy  of  that  card."  And  he  took  one  of  his  own 
from  a  Urge  pocket-book  on  his  knee. 

James  did  so  quickly  and  very  neatly,  handed 
it  to  Mr.  Lewis,  who,  after  one  glance,  put  it  in 
the  pocket-book,  and  said  : 

"  You  write  a  very  good  hand  indeed.  Now 
what  I  want  to  propose  to  you  is  this  :  My  busi 
ness  has  increased  so  much  of  late,  and  I  have  so 
many  men  employed,  that  I  cannot  attend  to  all 
the  duties  of  this  office  myself,  and,  if  you  think 
well  of  coming  in  here  to  assist  me,  I'll  pay  you 
a  decent  salary — something  you  can  live  on.  Now, 
what  do  you  say  ?" 

No  use  in  us  saying  what  James  said.  He 
thanked  his  kind  employer  heartily,  and,  after  re 
ceiving  the  keys  of  the  office,  retired  with  a  joy 
ous  heart.  Next  morning  found  him  seated  in 
the  office,  dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  busily  en 
gaged  writing  up  and  arranging  the  books,  which 
want  of  time  had  compelled  his  employer  to  leave 
in  a  somewhat  disordered  way.  He  had  every 
thing  in  such  good  order  that,  when  Mr.  Lewis 
arrived  and  looked  over  his  accounts,  he  smiled, 
and  cast  a  look  on  James,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I 


202  Annie  Reilly. 

have  not  mistaken  my  man  this  time,  either,"  and 
walked  out,  as  he  said  to  himself,  "  Thank  good 
ness  !  that's  so  much  off  my  mind." 

Notwithstanding  James  differed  so  widely  from 
the  other  workmen,  and,  as  the  saying  is,  "  Made 
no  freedom  with  any  of  them,"  they  were  delight 
ed,  one  and  all,  at  his  good  luck,  and  began  at 
once  to  show  him  the  respect  he  was  now  en 
titled  to,  owing  to  the  change  in  his  position. 

Ja-mes  did  not  take  advantage  of  his  newly-ac 
quired  power,  as  a  great  many  in  such  cases  usu 
ally  do,  to  win  favor  with  his  employer  at  the  cost 
of  the  men.  He  became  more  sociable  with  them 
than  had  been  his  wont,  and,  now  that  his  advice 
would  be  more  heeded,  used  it  trying  to  dissuade 
such  of  them  as  he  imagined  were  not  hopelessly 
lost  to  abandon  drink  and  mend  their  lives  in 
every  way  ;  and  it  was  far  more  delightful  to  him 
than  the  change  in  his  own  fortune,  when,  after  a 
weary  conversation,  he  induced  our  friend  Dooley 
to  come  to  church  with  him  on  Sunday. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

INTRODUCES  A  FASHIONABLE  IRISH-AMERICAN 


LADY. 


INNIE  and  her  friend  hastened  as  fast 
as  they  could  to  the  nearest  line  of 
cars,  and  were  soon  across  the  ferry 

, —     and   riding   up   on  the  other  side  to 

Patrick  Sweeny's.     Mr.  Sweeny  and  his  wife  were 
at  home,  and,  when  Kitty  told  them  what  had 
happened   at  the  "mansion,"  they  were  greatly 
amused,  and  praised  Annie's  good  sense  far  I 
ing  such  a  place  at  once. 

•'  Oh  !  yes,"  said  AMIUC,  "  it  were  useless  for  me 
to  think  of  living  there  any  longer;  they  would 
frighten  me  to  death.  But  the  worst  of 

am  now  idle." 

"A  very  short  time  you  need  be,  said  Kitty. 
«  You  couldn't  happen  on  a  worse  place-anywh, 

than  that." 

-Why,  bless  you,  Annie,"  said  Mr.  Sweeny, 
«'  what  a  greedy  little  thing  you  are  !  If  ever  any- 
body  made  a  fortune  in  America,  you  will.  I  he 
husband  that  Rets  you  may  take  the  world  easy. 


204  Annie  Reilly. 

All  had  a  laugh  at  this,  and  after  a  few  pleasant 
words  all  round  Kitty  went  back  to  her  place, 
and  Annie  into  the  little  parlor  to  write  a  letter 
to  her  father  and  mother. 

Mr.  Sweeny  would  not  hear  of  her  advertising 
again,  but  promised  to  find  her  a  suitable  situation 
himself.  This  made  Annie  very  happy,  and  the 
time  was  passing  along  nicely,  till  a  tall,  pale, 
smirking  young  lady  of  about  twenty-five  bounced 
into  the  parlor  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
evening.  She  wore  a  gray  dress,  very  wide  in  the 
skirts,  and  very  long  and  tight-fitting  in  the  body, 
with  two  closely-planted  rows  of  bright  buttons 
in  front,  like  those  on  a  huzzar's  jacket,  a  white 
hat  drawn  over  her  eyes,  and  carried  in  her  hand 
an  immense  fan,  which  she  continued  to  wave 
desperately.  That  she  was  not  much  of  a  favorite 
with  the  family  was  evident  to  Annie  from  the 
manner  of  her  reception.  Mrs.  Sweeny,  without 
rising  from  her  seat,  merely  said,  "  Good-evening, 
MissTalbot ;"  and  Sweeny  did  not  seem  to  notice 
her  at  all. 

"  Well !  well !  I  do  declare,"  said  she,  dropping 
into  a  chair,  "  the  heat  and  closeness  of  this 
place  take  the  breath  from  me.  Whew !  good 
ness  gracious  me !" 

"  Tis  very  warm  out  this  evening,"  said  Mrs. 
Sweeny,  raising  the  \vindow  «i  little,  "  a;vl,  insiv.v.1 


A  nnie .  Reilljr.  205 

of  being  so  very  hot  here,  I  always  find  a  nice 
draught  in  this  room." 

Miss  Talbot  made  no  reply,  but  leaned  her  head 
a  little  one  side,  and  fanned  away.  Sweeny  and 
his  wife  exchanged  looks,  and  the  former,  with 
an  expression  of  disgust  on  his  face,  rose  and  went 
outside  on  the  stoop. 

"  I'm  pretty  well  used  up,"  said  the  charming 
damsel  at  length  languidly,  and  letting  the  fan 
drop.  "  I  was  up  the  road  to-day,  and  what  a 
charming  prospect,  I  do  declare  !" 

"  Oh  !  you  were  out  carriage-riding,"  said  Mrs. 
Sweeny,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  We  call  it  going  up  the  road,  and  not  carriage- 
riding  any  more,"  said  Miss  Talbot  emphatically. 
"  That  word  '  carriage-riding '  " — this  with  scorn — 
"  is  in  everybody's  mouth  now  ;  so,  of  course,  we 
had  to  go  to  work  and  give  it  a  name  that  we'd 
com-/r^-hend  amongst  ourselves.  You  didn't  go, 
as  intended,  to  the  country  this  summer,  eh  ?" 

"  Only  for  a  day  or  two,"  said,  Mrs.  Sweeny. 

Miss  Talbot,  with  a  sudden  start,  picked  up  her 
fan,  and,  wheeling  herself  around,  looked  closely 
into  Annie's  face,  while  she  hummed  a  lively  air. 
The  poor  girl  blushed  deeply,  and,  rising,  went  to 
another  part  of  the  room,  Miss  Talbot's  eyes  in 
quick  pursuit.  "  From  Ireland,  I'll  bet  a  dollar, 
come,"  said  she,  turning  her  eyes  on  Mrs.  Sweeny. 


2o6  Annie  Reilly. 

''  Yes  ;  the  lady  is  just  as  much  Irish  as  you  are 
yourself,"  said  that  lady.  "  It  should  not  require 
much  penetration  on  your  part  to  tell  that." 

"  Me  Irish  !"  said  she,  with  a  short  nod  of  great 
force.  "  /  am  no  such  a  thing.  Is  it  because 
father  and  mother  was  rose  there  that  /  am 
Irish  ?" 

"  Exactly ;  ther.e  could  be  no  better  reason," 
said  Mrs.  Sweeny. 

Miss  Talbot  stood  up  as  if  to  depart,  which 
would  have  been  a  great  calamity  just  then  ;  but 
after  twisting  her  face  a  few  times  like  a  short 
sighted  man  with  a  bad  razor,  she  went  to  the 
window,  and  began  beating  a  tune  with  her  fingers 
on  the  glass.  Annie  and  Miss  Sweeny  had  a 
hard  task  to  restrain  their  laughter. 

"  Please  don't  rap  the  window  that  way,"  said 
Mrs.  Sweeny,  a  little  sharply,  "  you  will  attract 
the  attention  of  the  people  outside.  See,  there 
is  a  butcher  on  the  far  side  thinks  you're  calling 
him." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  received  this  visitation 
this  evening  at  all,"  said  the  indignant  lady, 
"  only  Mr.  La  Bunty  is  off  to  Chicago,  and  Mr. 
Delblether's  niece  has  the  cholera-morbus  alter 
all  the  mushmelons  she  ate  at  Coney  Island  last 
Sunday.  There  wus  three  doctors  and  two  nurses 
up  with  her  night  and  day  since." 


Annie  Reilly.  207 

Mrs.  Sweeny  expressed  her  great  sorrow  for 
the  critical  condition  of  the  young  lady,  and 
asked  how  she  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
imperil  her  life  in  such  a  way. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Frank  Driggler  was  telling  me  all 
about  it,"  said  she,  again  sitting  down  and  clasp 
ing  her  hands.  "  I  went  up  the  road  with  him 
to-day,  just  because  the  other  gentlemen  were 
engaged.  Well,  you  know  Mr.  Delblether,  and 
old  Mrs.  Delblether,  and  Miss  Delblether  went 
to  Coney  Island  last  Sunday.  They  went  down 
on  their  knees  to  me  to  go  ;  but,  stuff!"  And  she 
tossed  her  head.  "  When  they  got  there,  who 
does  they  meet  but  Mrs.  Cyrus  Xersus  Smot  and 
her  daughter,  that  came  home  from  the  boarding- 
school  only  a  few  weeks  ago.  Well,  Mrs.  Smot, 
you  know,  thinks  there's  not  the  like  of  her  daugh 
ter  in  the  world  ;  so  she  thought  she'd  show  off  a 
little,  and  put  on  airs.  They  weren't  two  minutes 
talking,  till  she  began  to  boast  of  her  daughter's 
accomplishments,  and  how  beautiful  and  healthy 
she  was.  Mrs.  Delblether  made  up  her  mind  to 
not  let  her  have  it  all  her  own  way  ;  so  she 
says,  says  Mrs.  Delblether,  '  My  granddaughter 
here  knows  more  than  could  be  pounded  into 
your  daughter's  head  in  forty  thousand  years. 
Talk  of  your  daughter's  beauty,  and  her  shoul 
ders  not  the  breadth  of  my  hand.  Talk  of  her 


208  Annie  Reilly. 

health .  Why  my  granddaughter  wasn't  a  day  sick 
in  eleven  years,  when  she  had  the  shakes,  and 
your  daughter  was  home  two  weeks  lying  with 
you  last  fall.  And  speak  of  accomplishments  : 
my  granddaughter  knows  how  to  eat  like  a 
Christian,  and  has  the  best  appetite  of  any 
young  lady  in  New  York.  I  would  put  her  for 
fifty  dollars  against  yours,  starved  and  thin  as 
she  is,  coming  from  that  hungry  school.'  '  I'll 
take  your  bet,'  says  Mrs.  Smot,  pulling  out  her 
purse.  She  has  plenty  of  stamps,  no  getting  out 
of  that.  '  It's  done,'  says  Mrs.  Delblether,  cover 
ing  the  money  in  a  gentleman's  hand — a  mutual 
friend.  '  My  dear  Bella,  an't  you  in  tune  for  a 
good  feed  after  so  much  sea  air,  and  the  credit  of 
our  family  at  stake?'  says  Mrs.  Delblether.  '  Rely 
on  me,  grandma,'  says  Bella,  opening  her  stays. 
'  What's  the  thing  going  to  be?'  '  Mushmelons,' 
shouted  Mrs.  Smot.  You  know  they  lived  in 
Georgia  one  time,  and  were  used  to  melons. 
'  That's  not  square,'  says  Mrs.  Delblether.  '  Never 
mind,  grandma,  I'll  go  it,'  says  Bella.  '  Let  it  be 
mushmelons.' 

"  The  mutual  friend  hailed  a  vender,  and  told 
him  to  drive  round  behind  a  sandbank.  He  did  so, 
and  the  wagon-load  was  purchased,  and  the  young 
ladies  pitched  in.  Well,  to  make  a  long  story 
short.  Bella  was  eating  away,  nothing  the  worse. 


Annie  Reilly.  209 

only  her  eyes  rolling  a  little,  when  Miss  Smot 
gave  a  terrible  roar,  and  fell  back  in  a  faint  in 
her  mother's  arms.  They  had  the  same  number 
eaten  at  this  time;  but  Bella  never  ceased  till 
she  finished  three  more.  Her  grandma  begged 
her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  make  it  five  ;  but 
the  brave  girl  didn't  feel  as  if  she  could.  Miss 
Smot  was  carried  away  by  four  men,  in  her 
mother's  shawl,  but  Bella  was  able  to  walk,  with 
the  assistance  of  her  uncle  and  grandmother,  to 
the  boat ;  and,  when  the  excited  crowd  began  to 
cheer,  she  begged  to  be  left  to  herself,  and  walked 
ten  yards  without  a  hand  to  her.  Coming  home 
on  the  boat,  she  drank  a  quantity  of  apple-sauce, 
and,  if  it  hadn't  'been  for  that,  she'd  have  been  on 
her  feet  in  two  days.  But  she  took  on  terrible 
that  night ;  a-yelling  and  a-twisting  herself  so 
that  they  thought  she  was  gone,  sure  pop.  She 
is  not  much  better  yet ;  but  her  grandma  is  so 
proud  of  her  that  she'll  spare  no  cost  to  bring 
her  round.  And  why  should  she?  See  how  ad 
mired  Bella  '11  be  now  in  society."  And  Miss 
Talbot  finished  with  a  sigh,  as  if  she  wished  she 
could  do  something  to  gain  renown. 

Annie  thought  the  story  a  great  joke ;  but,  on 
being  told  by  Miss  Sweeny  it  was  every  word  true, 
she  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks/ 
Mrs.  Sweeny  was  well  used  to  such  entertaining 


2io  Annie  Reilly. 

accounts  of  high  life  from  Miss  Talbot,  and  made 
no  remark  on  the  thrilling  contest ;  but,  after  a 
pause,  asked  her  when  she  intended  fulfilling  her 
promise  to  visit  Europe. 

"Not  this  season;  'tis  too  late  now,"  she  re 
plied  carelessly. 

"Then  next  summer?"  said  the  other. 

"  Oh !  I  rather  guess  I  shall,"  was  the  reply. 
"And  when  !  come  to  say  good-by,  'tis  not  Miss 
Talbot  you'll  see,  I  reckon.'' 

"  Oh  !  'twill  be  Mrs.  Delblether  we'll  have  then," 
said  Mrs.  Sweeny,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,"  said  she  carelessly,  "the  thing  is  to 
come  off  during  the  holidays." 

"  I  suppose,  much  as  you  dislike  Ireland,  you'll 
not  omit  paying  it  a  visit,"  said  Mrs.  Sweei.y. 

"  I  guess  I'll  make  a  call  there.  For  my  part, 
I  don't  care;  but  Mr.  Delblether  says  we  shall. 
He  thinks  'twill  be  so  very  amusing.  But  I  have 
my  fears  for  him  ;  he's  such  a  man  to  laugh  that 
he  may  kill  himself  when  he  goes  there." 

"  Kitty  is  thinking  of  paying  a  visit  to  her 
mother  next  year."  said  Annie,  addressing  Mrs. 
Sweeny. 

"  Indeed,  then,"  put  in  Miss  Talbot,  before  the 
person  spoken  to  had  time  to  answer,  "  111  call 
on  Kitty  if  we're  in  Ireland  together,  and  see 
what  them  little  villages  with  the  noisy  boys  and 


Annie  Reilly.  211 

girls  look  like.  I'll  bet  they  keep  pretty  mum 
while  we're  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  Annie,  with  an  arch  smile.  "  I 
dare  say  you'll  surprise  them  somewhat.  It's 
,iot  very  often  they  see  such  an  extraordinary 
lady  as  you." 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  the  other,  "  if  we  don't 
make  them  stare !  Are  there  any  gentlemen  or 
ladies,  or  is  there  any  society  at  all  in  Ireland  ?" 
she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  A  few,"  said  Mrs.  Sweeny. 

"  Oh  !  then,  I  suppose  they'll  bother  the  life 
out  of  us  so  much  with  invitations  that  we  won't 
know  what  to  do." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  much  to  dread  in  that 
way,"  said  Annie. 

"  I'll  not  put  up  with  it ;  that's  how  I'll  fix  ihe 
thing,"  said  she.  "  If  I  think  any  of  them  worth 
visiting,  why,  all  right." 

A  long  pause  followed,  which  was  broken  by 
Mr.  Sweeny  returning  to  the  parlor,  and  express 
ing  his  surprise  at  th£  lateness  of  the  hour.  The 
young  lady,  however.  drj  not  take  the  hint,  but 
fiercely  assailed  him  with  questions  on  different 
public  matters,  not  one  of  which  she  allowed  him 
to  answer ;  gave  her  own  views  and  the  opinions 
of  numerous  intellectual  acquaintances  of  hers, 
stood  up,  went  to  the  door,  came  back  again,  till 


2t2  Annie  Reilly. 

the  family  were  in  a  state  of  distraction.  At  last 
she  went  outside,  still  talking,  and  Mr.  Sweeny, 
who  was  standing  in  the  hall  listening  to  her, 
hastily  closed  the  door. 

"  What  a  strange  character  she  is !"  said  Annie. 
"  I  hope  there  are  few  American  ladies  like  Mrs. 
Phillips  and  her." 

"  No  American  ladies  at  all  like  either  of 
them  or  their  acquaintances,"  said  Mrs.  Sweeny. 
"  She  belongs  to  a  class — and  a  very  large  class, 
too,  in  this  city — who  think  they'll  be  more 
thought  of  by  the  American  people  for  denying 
their  country  and  often  their  religion.  Now,  for 
my  part,  I  don't  see  how  they  can  be  so  short 
sighted  ;  because,  of  all  the  people  in  the  world, 
none  despise  the  mean  and  false-hearted  more 
than  the  Americans." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

KITTY  BRADY  REVISITS  THE  OLD  LAND,  ANL 
IS  VISITED  BY  THE  FASHIONABLE  IRISH- 
AMERICAN  LADY. 

|R.  SWEENY  procured  Annie  a  situa 
tion  in  a  very  respectable  family, 
whose  home  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  where  she  lived  contentedly 
till  an  event  occurred,  of  which  we  shall  speak 
further  on,  which  greatly  changed  the  course  of 
her  life. 

Our  story  now  moves  on  one  year,  and  we  find 
Kitty  Brady  standing  on  the  quay,  waiting  to  go 
aboard  a  ship  which  is  about  to  sail  for  Queens- 
town.  Annie,  Mrs.  Sweeny,  her  husband  and 
daughter,  and  Francis  Reilly  are  standing  around 
her.  Francis  had  arrived  a  few  months  before, 
and  carried  such  an  earnest  request  to  Kitty  to 
visit,  her  mother  in  the  old  land  that  it  put  an 
end  to  her  wavering  on  that  point.  Kitty  is 
much  affected  at  parting  from  her  friends,  and 
her  tears  are  falling  fast.  They  are  talking  of 
the  great  happiness  before  her,  to  visit  again  the 
scenes  of  her  childhood,  and  once  more  hear  the 


2 14  Annie  Reilly. 

only  voice  that  sustained  her  there.  Her  trunk, 
which  has  been  taken  aboard,  is  filled  with  pre 
sents,  neat  and  tasteful,  sent  by  Annie  and  her 
brother  to  their  parents  at  home.  * 

The  moment  for  parting  comes  ;  all  bid  her  an 
affectionate  good -by,  and  pray  a  blessing  on  hei 
journey. 

Kitty  had  sent  a  letter  apprising  her  mothet 
of  the  day  she  intended  leaving  New  York.  Mrs. 
Brady  hastened  to  Farrell  Reilly's,  told  them  the 
joyful  news,  and  insisted  on  their  coming  to  the 
cabin  the  day  her  daughter  was  expected  to 
arrive.  Mrs.  Reilly  and  her  husband  w-ere  greatly 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  speaking  to  one  who 
had  so  lately  seen  their  children,  and  promised 
the  old  woman  they  would  be  with  her  on  that 
day. 

Mrs.  Brady  could  not  wait  patiently  till  the 
arrival  of  the  happy  day.  She  walked  along  the 
road  in  the  direction  of  the  railway  station,  first 
by  the  broad  road,  and  then  by  the  narrow  lane 
which  ran  across  the  hills,  dreading,  if  she  travelled 
one  way  only,  Kitty  might  be  coming  by  the 
other ;  climbed  up  with  great  toil,  which  she  felt 
not,  to  the  top  of  the  steep  hill  which  overhung 
the  cabin,  and  looked  along  the  river- bank  in 
every  direction.  Then,  after  all.  this  hardship, 
she  would  recollect  Kitty  had  not  time  to  reach 


Annie  Reilly,  215 

any  of  those  places  yet  ;  so  she  would  return  to 
the  cabin,  and  weep  and  pray  till  another  morn 
ing  came.  At  length — and  it  seemed  to  her  she 
had  been  watching  for  it  a  year — the  day,  about 
which  there  could  be  no  mistake,  arrived,  and 
Farrell  and  his  wife  were  early  in  the  cabin — so 
early  that  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  were 
barely  visible  on  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees. 
Already  Mrs.  Brady  was  standing  outside  the 
door  waiting  for  them. 

"  O  Farrell  !  I  am  afraid  of  my  life  we  will 
be  too  late.  Do  you  think  we  will,  Mrs.  Reilly?" 
said  she,  turning  from  one  to  the  other.  "  It 
seems  an  age  since  daylight." 

"  We  shall  be  early  enough,  Nancy,"  said  Far 
rell,  following  his  wife  into  the  cabin.  "  The  train 
from  Cork  will  not  arrive  for  two  hours  yet,  and 
i/lrs.  Reilly  is  very  tired,  so  I  think  we  may  rest 
a  little." 

"  Surely,  poor  dear,  she  is  tired,"  said  Nancy, 
hastily  handing  her  the  best  chair  in  the  cabin. 
"  And  now.  Farrell,  while  you  and  her  rest  your 
selves,  I'll  just  run  as  far  as  the  brae,  and  see  if 
there's  any  sight  of  her.  The  train  may  come 
early  this  morning." 

"  I  wish  it  may,'1  said  Farrell  ;  "  but  there  is 
little  use  in  your  expecting  that.  Better  giv? 


2iO  Annie  Reilly. 

yourself  as  little  fatigue  as  you  can  ;  you  will 
want  all  your  strength  when  Kitty  comes." 

"  Oh  !  I  feel  as  lively  these  days,  Farrell,"  said 
she,  "  as  I  did  thirty  years  ago.  Two  hours  is 
such  a  terrible  wait.  No  harm  in  me  trying,  any 
way." 

"  We'll  go  with  you  very  soon,  Nancy,"  said 
Mrs.  Reilly.  "  We  can  walk  along  leisurely." 

Nancy  insisted  no  further,  but  went  out  on  the 
lane,  and  returned  with  word  that  the  cattle  were 
rising  from  their  resting-places  and  beginning  to 
feed,  and  that  "  Pat  the  Brock,"  the  apple-man, 
had  just  passed  by  on  his  way  to  town. 

"  And  look,"  she  added,  lifting  an  old  tin  lid 
from  a  crevice  in  the  wall,  and  letting  in  a  tiny 
stream  of  sunlight,  "  the  sun  does  not  come  in 
here  till  very  late." 

Farrell  and  his  wife  could  not  dispute  those 
convincing  evidences  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  stood  up  to  accompany  her  to  the  station. 
When  they  reached  there,  the  depot  looked  the 
most  deserted  of  any  building  they  hed  passed. 
An  odd,  smoke-begrimed  car  stood  on  the  track 
here  and  there,  looking  as  if  they  had  made  up 
their  minds  to  traver  no  more,  and  were  very 
sorry  for  travelling  so  much. 

The  doors  were  closed,  and  no  one  to  be  seen 
except  a  large,  lazy-looking  porter  iji  his  black 


Annie  Reilly.  217 

corduroys,  and  smoky  hair  enough  on  his  head 
for  ten  porters,  walking  slowly  along,  the  echo 
of  his  heavy  footfall  only  adding  to  the  loneliness 
of  the  situation. 

Mrs.  Brady  and  her  friends  sat  down  on  a 
large  wooden  box  at  one  end  of  the  building,  to 
wait.  By-and-by  the  doors  began  slowly  to  open 
— so  slow  that  they  seemed  in  doubt  whether  to 
close  again  or  not — and  a  few  more  porters  ap 
peared,  aii  differing  so  much  in  everything  except 
corduroy  that  any  one  not  in  the  secret  would 
think  they  were  born  at  least  a  thousand  miles 
apart.  Soon  a  guard  showed  himself  in  brass 
buttons  and  a  yellow  band  around  his  cap,  look 
ing  so  very  important,  disdainful,  and  impolite 
that  passengers  under  his  care  must  have  looked 
on  themselves  as  in  a  jail  for  the  time  being. 

A  little  later,  and  an  occasional  traveller  wan 
dered  into  the  building ;  one  now,  then  another, 
then  three  or  four  together,  till  the  place  became 
lively  with  people.  Commercial  travellers,  with 
immense  light  bags  in  their  hands  and  short  lead, 
pencils  behind  their  ears,  walked  to  and  fro  ;  large, 
fat,  good-humored-looking  farmers  leaned  against 
the  pillars,  and  discussed  the  markets  ;  keen-eyed 
stylishly-clad  gentlemen,  some  old,  others  young, 
and  all  carrying  large  umbrellas,  bustled  in  and 
out  of  the  crowds,  not  together,  but  separately. 


218  Annie  Reilly. 

as  if  they  were  engaged  to  count  the  number  of 
people  around,  and  were  determined,  at  all  costs, 
to  do  so  correctly.  It  seemed  remarkable,  the 
deference  shown  these  gentlemen  by  every  one  ' 
present,  especially  the  farmers,  who  gave  each 
berth  wide  enough  for  a  coach  and  four,  and 
muttered  as  he  passed,  "  Damn  those  attor 


neys 


At  length  the  ticket-office  was  opened,  and 
all  gathered  around  the  little  window,  crushing, 
scrambling,  and  scolding  ;  for  the  train  which  was 
to  bear  them  away  was  moving  into  the  depot. 
When  about  half  the  passengers  had  received 
tickets,  the  train  began  to  move,  off  again,  and 
the  uproar  at  the  office  became  deafening.  The 
nimble  clerk,  however,  supplied  these  latter  in 
time  to  get  aboard  after  an  exciting  race,  and  the 
building  settled  into  another  half  hour's  repose. 

As  the  time  for  the  arrival  of  their  train  ap 
proached,  Farrell  and  his  companions  were  in  a 
fever  of  anxiety.  Mrs.  Brady  asked  every  porter 
she  saw  at  least  ten  times  what  the  exact  min 
ute  would  be.  They  were  standing  together  at 
the  south  end  of  the  depot,  looking  along  the 
track,  when  a  cloud  of  smoke  rose  over  the  low  hill 
near  by,  and  the  station  bell  began  to  ring  loudly. 

"  Here  it  is  at  last !"  exclaimed  Farrell. 

"  Oh !  thank  heaven,"  said  Nancy,  clasping  Mrs. 


A  nnie  Reilly.  2 1 9 

Reilly  by  the  hand  in  her  joyous  excitement. 
"  Oh  !  God  be  praised  that  I  have  lived  to  see 
this  day." 

The  three  stood,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  long 
line  of  coaches  gliding  up.  The  train  soon 
stopped,  and  every  window  was  filled  with  eager 
faces  looking  out  on  those  on  the  platform,  and 
the  doors  crowded  with,  men,  women,  bundles, 
bags,  and  children  hurrying  down  on  the  flags. 
Farrell  and  the  two  women  ran  wildly  from  win 
dow  to  window,  from  door  to  door,  eagerly  scan 
ning  each  female  face.  But  the  cars  were  empty, 
and  the  crowd  beginning  to  disperse,  and  they 
had  seen  no  sign  of  Kitty. 

Poor  Nancy's  heart  sank,  and  a  mist  stood  be 
fore  her  and  those  around.  Neither  of  her  com 
panions  ventured  to  speak  what  they  thought. 

"  O  my  child !"  said  the  distracted  woman 
faintly,  "  if  she  is  not  here — 

"  Hush  a  moment !"  exclaimed  Farrell.  "  There 
is  a  young  woman  dressed  in  green  with  her  back 
to  us,  standing  by  the  trunk  down  there — " 

But  before  he  could  finish  the  sentence,  the 
young  lady  turned  and  looked  towards  them,  and 
with  a  cry  of  joy  ran  up,  and  mother  and  daugh 
ter  were  folded  in  each  other's  arms.  Poor 
Nancy  was  wild  with  delight.  Her  tears  fell  on 
the  face,  neck,  and  hands  of  her  child.  Again 


22O  Annie  Reilly. 

and  again  she  kissed  her  frantically,  and  breathed 
blessings  on  her,  till  Mrs.  Reilly  said  : 

"  Nancy,  you  must  not  think  of  keeping  her  all 
to  yourself;  let  me  kiss  and  welcome  the  darling 
girl." 

The  old  woman  said,  her  face  against  her 
daughter's : 

"  Kitty,  my  loving  child,  Mrs.  Reilly  is  here  to 
meet  you,  too,  and  her  husband.  Every  one  must 
be  glad  to  see  you." 

The  greeting  between  Mrs.  Reilly  and  the  girl 
was  hardly  less  warm,  an<^,  after  embracing  Far- 
rell,  and  answering  numerous  questions  about  her 
self  and  his  children,  the  happy  little  party  set  out 
for  the  cabin. 

The  number  of  callers  on  Kitty,  every  one  of 
whom  were  delighted  with  her  handsome  appear 
ance  and  nice  manners,  was  immense.  Poor 
Nancy  was  almost  wild  with  joy.  The  good, 
truthful  account  she  gave  of  Francis  and  Annie 
made  their  parents  very  happy,  and,  for  the  first 
time  during  its  existence,  Nancy  Brady's  cabin 
was-  the  scene  of  contentment  and  happiness. 
Time,  which  heretofore  hung  so  heavily  on 
Nancy's  hands,  swept  past  quickly  now.  Every 
day  brought  some  new  enjoyment  ;  some  old 
place  of  historic  interest,  about  which  Kitty  had 
read  in  America,  was  to  be  visited ;  some  far-ofi 


Annie  Reilly.  221 

neighbor,  whose  friend  or  friends  had  sent  mes 
sages  to  those  at  home,  were  to  be  seen ;  and,  as 
she  always  insisted  on  her  mother  accompanying 
her,  Nancy  saw  more  strange  places  and  people, 
and  learned  more  of  Ireland's  story  the  first 
month  her  daughter  spent  at  home,  than  she  had 
during  her  previous  life.  Invitations  from  old 
and  new  acquaintances  were  numerous,  and  even 
Father  Fitzpatrick  called  one  day  and  took  both 
to  his  house  to  spend  the  evening;  and,  rinding 
Kitty  so  well  informed  and  so  intelligent,  many  a 
chat  they  had  together  during  the  summer.  Mrs. 
Reilly  let  no  day  pass  without  seeing  her,  and 
often  they  went  down  together  by  the  river's 
bank,  and  sat  talking,  till  Nancy,  who  would  insist 
on  staying  behind  to  prepare  a  feast,  would  have 
to  go  in  search  of  them. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  the  old  woman  had 
just  thrown  her  shawl  about  her  shoulders  to  sally 
out  in  search  of  the  "  pair,"  as  she  called  them, 
when,  happening  to  look  through  the  little  window, 
she  saw  a  very  stylishly-dressed  gentleman  and 
lady  standing  outside,  the  former  pointing  with 
his  cane  towards  the  door,  and  the  latter,  with  her 
hand  pressed  against  her  side,  laughing  heartily 

This  sudden  sight  alarmed  the  old  woman  some 
what,  and  she  hesitated  a  moment,  in  hopes  they 
might  pass  on.  But  to  her  horror,  after  apparent- 


222  Annie  Reilly. 

ly  satisfying  themselves  by  scrutinizing  the  cabin, 
both  came  over  to  the  door,  and  the  lady  enquired, 
in  a  voice  which  sounded  so  high  up  in  her  nose 
that  Nancy  thought  she  must  be  suffering  from  a 
severe  cold,  if  that  was  where  Kitty  Brady  lived. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  yes  ;  please  sit  down  a  moment,"  said 
the  old  woman,  handing  each  a  chair.  "  I'll  call 
her  directly." 

The  lady  declined  the  proffered  accommodation 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand,  and  the  gentleman  went 
over  and  looked  into  the  little  room,  the  door  of 
which  was  open,  and  began  to  whistle  softly. 
Nancy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  amaze 
ment,  not  rightly  knowing  what  to  do. 

"  Oh !  hurry  up,  and  tell  her  right  away,  will 
you  ?"  said  the  lady,  after  she  had  swept  the  floor 
with  her  skirt  a  few  times.  Nancy  hastened  as 
fast  as  she  could  to  the  river's  bank,  and  told 
Kitty  in  such  an  excited  manner  that  two  very 
odd-looking  people  were  waiting  in  the  house  to 
see  her  that  she  hurried  in  as  quick  as  she  could, 
and  left  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Reilly  to  follow 
after 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

EXPERIENCES  OF  THE   FASHIONABLE   LADY   AN1 
HER    HUSBAND    IN    IRELAND. — ENTERTAINING 
THE   GUESTS   AT  A   HOTEL. — A   LECTURE   IN  A 
FORGE,   AND   WHAT   CAME   OF  IT. 

|  H  E  "  odd-looking  "  pair  who  had  caused 
Nancy  so  much  alarm  were  a  no  less 
couple  than  Mr.  Delblether  and  his 
wife,  the  once  charming  Miss  Talbot 
"  The  thing  did  come  off  during  the  holidays,' 
and  they  were  now  on  a  pleasure  trip  to  Europe. 
To  say  Kitty  was  delighted  to  see  them  might 
be  venturing  on  an  assertion  not  strictly  true  ;  but 
she  gave  them  a  kindly  welcome,  and  offered  the 
hospitalities  of  her  mother's  cottage,  which  was 
rejected  by  Mrs.  Delblether,  who  declared,  with 
a  frown  and  shake  of  her  head,  that  to  swallow 
anything  under  such  a  k>w  roof  would  surely  choke 
her.  Kitty  thought  of  the  dreadful  misfortune 
this  would  entail  on  so  many,  and  pressed  her  no 
further.  The  husband,  however,  dranx  a  large 
glassful  of  pure  usquebaugh,  and,  declaring  that 
he  was  something  very  low  and  mean  if  he  didn't 
like  it  exceedingly,  finished  another.  As  Kitt>  ui 


224  Annie  Reilly. 

her  companions  did  not  like  to  lead  the  conversa 
tion  when  two  such  distinguished  people  were 
present,  and  as  the  distinguished  people  did  not 
show  much  inclination  to  talk,  a  very  awkward 
half-hour  was  spent,  at  the  end  of  which  Mrs. 
Delblether  said : 

"  Kitty,  me  and  Mr.  Delblether  wishes  to 
take  a  look  around  this  location  at  the  fowling 
and  shooting,  and  so  on  ;  so  we've  put  up  at  that 
place  you  call  a  hotel  in  the  village,  and  we  want 
you  to  pay  us  a  visit  there." 

Kitty  promised  to  do  so,  and  the  visitors  walked 
away,  each  looking  peculiarly  and  unaccountably 
sad. 

Now,  as  our  restless  thoughts  can  travel  much 
quicker  than  Kitty's  feet,  we  will  precede  her, 
and  see  how  her  exalted  friends  are  getting  on  in 
the  village  alone. 

They  arrived  at  the  hotel  early  in  the  evening, 
and  spent  the  time  till  supper  in  their  own  apart 
ments,  planning  the  measures  they  would  adopt 
to  let  the  quiet  villagers  know  they  were  some 
thing  the  like  of  which  probably  had  never  hon 
ored  them  with  a  visit  before. 

Mrs.  Delblether  was  by  far  the  better  strate 
gist.  Her  plans  were  numerous  and  well  laid, 
while  all  her  husband  could  think  of  was  for  him 
to  put  a  long  cigar  in  his  mouth,  with  his  hat 


Annie  Reilly.  225 

greatly  on  one  side,  his  wife  to  hang  her  gold 
watch  around  her  neck,  and  let  it  fall  down  ex 
posed  to  view  on  her  breast. 

She  derided  his  want  of  tact,  and  commanded 
his  attention  to  listen  to  her. 

"  Now,  you  see,"  she  said,  "  it's  all  very  good 
to  stagger  them  in  the  hotel  here  ;  but  Something 
must  be  done  outside,  otherwise  half  the  people 
may  never  hear  of  us  at  all.  To  do  the  thing 
square  inside  here  you  may  rely  on  me,  and  when 
we  are  out  together,  too.  But  you  know  there 
are  some  places  where  you  can  do  a  good  deal  if 
you  only  have  the  pluck.  Now,  when  we  were 
coming  up-stairs,  you  remember  me  stopping  be 
hind  for  a  little  ?"  He  did  not  forget  it.  "  Well, 
there  were  two  men  talking  in  the  room  on  the 
right,  and  laughing  very  heartily  over  something 
that  had  happened  in  the  forge.  One  of  them 
said,  '  I  heard  the  words  plainly,  and  more  than 
twenty  men  standing  around  at  the  time.'  Now, 
anywhere  in  such  a  small  ranch  as  this,  where 
twenty  men  can  be  found  together  must  be  the 
chief  place  of  resort,  eh  ?"  He  held  the  same 
opinion.  "  So  I  want  you  to  go  there  to-morrow 
evening,  and  just  begin  by  comparing  everything 
you  have  seen  in  Ireland  with  everything  in 
America.  Tell  them  they  hain't  nothin'  here 
like  New  York.  Tell  them  they're  darn  fools 


226  Annie  Reilly. 

for  living  in  such  a  country  at  all,  and  even  go  so 
far  as  to  despise  the  forge  and  blacksmith,  too." 

The  gentleman  was  delighted,  and  declared  he 
surely  would  have  thought  of  this  himself  before 
morning;  whereupon  the  lady  said  he  would  not, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  say  she  never  knew  him  to 
think  of  anything  he  should.  Soon  after,  they 
descended  to  the  dining-room. 

A  number  of  jovial-looking  men,  some  standing 
by  the  windows,  others  seated  at  the  board,  were 
in  the  room. 

Mrs.  Delblether  seated  herself  with  a  loud 
"  Oh  !"  as  if  the  act  distressed  her,  sat  up  very 
erect,  and,  gathering  her  eyebrows  into  an  ex 
pression  of  keen  scrutiny,  looked  from  face  to 
face,  down  one  side  of  the  table,  then  up  the 
other.  Her  husband  took  his  place  by  her  side, 
and  closed  his  eyes  so  as  to  leave  only  the  pupil 
visible,  and  resting  an  arm  on  the  table,  threw  the 
other  over  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  waited  for 
his  accomplished  wife  to  commence.  When  she 
had  satisfied  herself  looking  at  the  live  faces,  she 
turned  her  attention  to  the  painted  ones  on  the 
wall,  and,  singling  out  a  portrait  of  O'Connell 
which  hung  over  the  chimney-piece,  asked,  as  she 
pointed  her  knife  in  that  direction,  and  looked  at 
a  gentleman  opposite,  "  Whose  is  that?  Tell  me, 
will  you  ?" 


Annie  Reilly.  227 

He  hastily  informed  her,  and  she  said,  letting 
her  head  fall  back,  "  Mr.  Delblether,  that's  who 
the  Irish  in  New  York  talk  so  much  about.  Well, 
only  think ;  no  nice  paintings  even  to  be  seen  in 
this  'ere — I  don't  'zactly  know  what  to  call  it." 

The  guests,  who  up  to  this  had  managed  to 
preserve  their  decorum,  all  glanced  at  her,  and  a 
smile  overspread  every  face. 

She  kept  silent  for  a  moment,  eating  away 
rapidly,  her  face  almost  on  the  plate,  then  leaned 
over  and  whispered  in  her  husband's  ear,  "  Why 
don't  you  say  something  ?  You  look  as  glum  as  a 
pumpkin.'' 

"  You're  a-staggering  them  yourself.  Go  on, 
I  am  proud  of  you,"  whispered  he  in  return. 
"  Leave  me  toe  to-morrow  evening." 

And  she  did  go  on,  asking  questions  about  this 
article  and  that ;  what  the  table  was  made  of, 
how  much  it  cost ;  how  much  difference  in  the 
price  of  the  black-handled  knives  and  the  white 
ones;  were  dishes  and  salt-cellars  sold  on  time. 
and,  if  so,  how  much  discount  was  allowed  for 
cash  payment ;  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  ask  an 
old  gentleman  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table  how 
long  after  he  purchased  his  wig  did  the  maker 
wait  till  he  sent  in  his  bill.  On  every  reply  to 
those  questions,  she  commented  at  moderate 
length,  and  drew  numerous  parallels  between  Ire- 


228  Annie  Reilly. 

land  and  America,  to  the  great  disadvantage  of 
the  former. 

Soon  the  guests  began  to  perceive  they  had 
found  a  treasure,  and  employed  every  means  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  All  heartily  coincided  with 
her  remarks,  and  outwardly  thanked  Providence 
for  sending  such  an  enlightened  angel  to  tell  them 
of  their  failings,  and  point  out  to  them  so  many 
remedies.  Not  one  of  them,  except  those  whom 
pressing  duty  called  away,  left  the  hotel  that 
night,  and  even  those  latter  lingered  till  the  last 
second,  and  looked  back  regretfully  as  they  went 
from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Delblether  talked  till  after  midnight.  There 
was  such  a  crowd  at  the  breakfast-table  the  fol 
lowing  morning  that  the  landlord,  in  his  hurry 
and  excitement,  broke  a  pitcher  over  a  slow 
waiter's  head,  and  pushed  another  from  the 
kitchen  with  such  force  that  he  fell  on  the  tray 
he  was  carrying  with  a  terrible  noise,  crushing  its 
contents.  One  maid  inflicted  a  severe  wound  on 
the  palm  of  her  hand  with  a  carving-fork,  and 
another  fell  headlong  into  the  coal-cellar.  That 
evening,  Mr.  Delblether,  dressed  in  a  long  black 
coat  of  very  cheap  material,  tight-fitting,  short, 
check  pants,  a  soft,  wide-brimmed  hat,  and  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  sauntered  up  the  street  to  the  forge, 
to  commence  his  grand  attack  on  the  attention 


Annie  Reilly.  229 

of  the  villagers.  The  blacksmith,  a  big,  hearty- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  laugh  ringing  as  hi.s  anvil, 
kindly  saluted  him  as  he  entered.  A  number  of 
men  and  boys  were  in  the  forge  at  the  time,  sit 
ting  up  on  the  hearth  or  standing  about  the  floor, 
amongst  whom  he  noticed  many  of  those  he  had 
seen  at  the  hotel. 

He  returned  the  smith's  friendly  nod  with  an 
other  of  quiet  patronage,  and,  closing  one  eye, 
took  a  deliberate  survey  of  those  present — the 
walls,  the  roof,  and  behind  the  bellows.  During 
this  time,  he  had  not  spoken  a  word,  but  hummed 
merrily. 

"  Say,  young  fellar,"  said  he  at  length,  balancing 
himself  on  his  cane,  and  looking  at  the  blacksmith, 
"  how  do  the  farmers  cultivate  the  sile  in  these 
'ere  diggins?" 

"  They  have  a  number  of  ways,  sir,"  said  the 
man  addressed. 

"  Everything  is  done  by  system,  sir,  in  my 
country,  and  done  co-rectly.  We  hain't  no  two 
ways  of  doing  anything,  we  haven't,"  said  he. 

"  None  but  the  right  way?"  said  the  smith, 
with  a  smile. 

"  The  right  way  or  no  way,  sir,"  said  the  gen 
tleman,  shaking  his  watch-chain,  "  that's  our 
motto.' 

"  I  suppose  you  find  things  very  different  here 


230  Annie  jReiliy. 

from  your  own  country,"  said  a  man,  coming  for 
ward  and  resting  his  foot  on  the  side  of  the 
trough. 

"  Etarnally  so/' was  the  reply.  "Why,  hold 
on,  me  friend.  If  I  ever  seed  anything  to  come 
up  to  the  difference  between  America  and  this 
little  island,  I  am —  Why,  sir,  in  the  first 
place,  I  could  find  you  a  squash-field  in  Jarsey 
bigger  than  your  whole  country.  And,  again, 
you  have  no  leading  questions  that  I'd  bother 
with.  Look  at  our  tar-and-feather  compromise 
question  in  the  West ;  why,  it's  ahead  of — of — 
everything,"  said  he,  unable  to  find  a  better  ex 
pression.  "  Then  our  rivers — what  are  ye  talking 
about?  Why,  one  on  'em  would  flow  square  round 
your  country  ten  times.  Think  of  our  mountains, 
and  snakes,  and  muskiters  ;  why,  you  have  nothing 
here."  And  he  moved  his  head  from  side  to  side 
in  disgust.  -•». 

Those  in  the  forge  gathered  closely  around, 
hardly  giving  him  room  to  swing  his  coat-tails 
in,  and  the  blacksmith  rested  on  his  sledge,  and 
looked  on  entranced.  Others  outside,  hearing 
by  some  means  of  what  was  going  on,  came 
crowding  in,  till  the  little  place  was  filled  to  over 
flowing.  The  door  was  packed,  and  even  the 
little  window  had  its  two  or  three  rows  of  heads. 
Still  they  kept  coming  ;  men  in  every  variety  of 


Annie  Reilly.  231 

dress ;  women,  some  with  shawls  about  theit 
shoulders,  others  with  children  in  their  arms  has 
tily  snatched  from  their  cradles  ;  boys  with  books 
in  their  hands,  from  which  they  had  been  study 
ing  to-morrow's  lessons  ;  and  even  little  creatures 
not  long  out  of  their  swaddling-clothes  were  met 
making  their  way  along  the  street,  and,  when 
questioned  as  to  their  destination,  looked  up  and 
lisped,  "  The  yantee/'  and  ran  on.  Dogs,  seeing 
they  had  the  place  to  themselves,  worried  each 
other  behind  the  houses,  and  pursued  stray  cats 
and  pigs  along  the  street.  Philosophic  old  cocks 
who  had  lived  all  their  lives  in  the"  village 
stretched  their  necks  and  tried  to  think  ;  but, 
arriving  at  no  satisfactory  conclusion,  fluttered 
across  the  wall  into  the  chapel-yard,  and  franti 
cally  called  on  their  charge  to  follow  them.  Never 
was  such  uproar  and  confusion  witnessed  in  the 
town  before. 

Mr.  Delblether  was  delighted.  He  could  hear 
those  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd  exclaiming,  "  Where 
is  he?  Why  don't  they  put  him  up  on  the  hearth, 
and  give  us  all  a  chance  to  see  him  ?"  A  chance 
was  offered  him  to  "  come  out  strong,"  and  prob 
ably  to  make  himself  famous.  So  letting  his 
tongue  and  arms  loose,  he  commenced  a  harangue 
on  the  disadvantages  under  which  he  claimed 
the  village  and,  in  fact,  all  Ireland  labored  ;  be- 


232  Annie  Reilly. 

sought   his  hearers  to  learn  something  from  the 
example  set  them  by  New  York,  with  its  theatres 
parks  savings-banks,  and  steamboats;  told  them' 
|  had  their  village  in  America,  he  would  bore' 
"  «-anai  to  tne  ocean,  and  have  all  thn 
tions  flourishing  in  it  before  three  months." 

Ben  s^^l^r  danC.ed  Wi<"  J°y-     Since 


the    ha  '  ^ears        °«- 

>ey  had  not  had  such  amusement.     The  worthy 

Thich  Teer    T    aSked    nUmer°US    <JUeStio"S'    * 
J    he  made  prompt  replies;  asked  himself 

.everal  and  answered  them  as  cleverly  ;  skipped 
adm,rably  from  one  topic  to  another  ;  confounded 
names  dates,  and  facts  delightfully;  was  sarcastic 
one  t,me,  pathetic  at  another,  and  frequently 
very  humorous.     He  spoke  every  word  with  such 
a  genume  twang  that  not  a  few  on  the  edge  of 
anvil  CUrSed  Wh°eVer  WSS  "di«ging"  the 

How  long  he  might  have  continued  it  is  hard 
«y,  had  he  not  been  somewhat  rudely  silenced 
by  a  prolonged  clanging  noise  outside,  followed 

the  h  °l  '  "T  hfU'  Cheen     He  looked  "iW'y  at 
the  blacksm,th,  and  asked  what  the  uproar  meant. 

-ith  erea    n  I  >  ^'"  u  ^"^    that    gentlema 
>       great  pohteness  (for  a  blacksmith),  "the 
have  of  hon  cdabrated  £       he, 


on  cdabrated 


Annie  Reilly.  233 

"  Oh !  by  Jove,"  thought  Mr.  DelWether, 
'  they  are  going  to  serenade  me  ;  but,"  he  added 

aloud,  "  your  music  is  very  coarse." 

He  turned  to  look  around  on  his  hearers  befpre 
resuming  his  discourse,  but  found  the  greater 
part  of  them  had  gone  into  the  street,  and  what 
remained  were  huddled  together  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  forge,  like  men  seeking  shelter  from 
a  shower.  Thoroughly  surprised  now,  he  was 
about  to  make  some  remark  ;  but,  before  he  could 
do  so,  the  candle  disappeared  from  its  place,  leav 
ing  the  shop  in  total  darkness,  and  a  heavy  thud 
sounded  along  the  roof,  which  caused  him  to 
look  up  in  terror  and  in  time  to  have  his  eyes, 
nose,  and  mouth  filled  with  dust.  He  ran  to 
wards  the  door,  but  a  well-directed  stream  of 
water  from  the  trough  covered  him  from  head  to 
foot  before  he  gained  the  street.  Blind  with 
dust  and  rage,  he  knew  not  what  direction  to 
take,  but  stood  rubbing  his  blackened  hands  to 
his  blacker  face,  till  a  motley  crowd  of  boys, 
with  old  tin  cans,  broken  kettles,  scraps  of  iron, 
and,,  in  short,  everything  convenient  that  could 
make  a  noise,  formed  a  ring  around  him.  At  a 
signal  from  the  leader,  they  struck  up  such  a 
horrible,  deafening  r — r— r — rip  that  the  recipi 
ent  of  the  honor  fairly  jumped  from  the  ground. 
In  vain  he  tried  to  make  his  voice  heard  ;  but  the 


234  Annie  Reilly. 

more  excited  he  became,  the  more  his  tormentors 
banged  their  instruments. 

At  length  they  parted  on  one  side  to  let  him 
out,  which,  when  he  saw,  he  dashed  from  their 
midst  down  the  street  towards'  his  hotel  like  a 
madman.  They  allowed  him  to  gain  a  little  on 
them,  so  as  to  giye  effect  to  the  thing,  and  then 
started  in  pursuit  with  even  greater  uproar,  fol 
lowed  by  the  dogs,  which  had  by  this  time  grown 
reckless,  and  boldly  ran  into  the  street,  barking 
furiously.  Boys  heretofore  timid  in  their  excite 
ment  wrenched  old  lids  from  others  whom  they 
dreaded  up  to  that  night.  Grown-up  lads  threw 
down  their  smaller  companions,  and  dragged 
them  along  the  pavement  till  they  surrendered 
whatever  engine  of  noise  they  carried.  Some, 
who  could  find  nothing  else,  tore  up  paving- 
stones,  and,  holding  one  in  each  hand,  rapped 
them  together  as  they  ran.  Mr.  Delblether 
having  reached  the  hotel,  the  serenaders  gath 
ered  around  the  door,  cheered,  yelled,  laughed, 
rapped  their  cans  a  few  times,  and  then  disap 
peared  as  suddenly  as  they  came.  Mrs.  Del- 
blether  screamed  loud  and  regularly  for  ten 
minutes  after  her  husband's  arrival.  He  was 
blacker  than  any  charcoal  nigger  she  had  ever 
seen  and  the  dust  filled  his  mouth  so  that  he 
could  not  speak.  At  length,  when  his  face  re- 


Annie  Reilly.  235 

sumed  its  natural  color  somewhat,  which  it  did 
alter  blacking  all  the  water  in  the  room,  and  five 
or  six  jugfuls  carried  up  by  a  waiter,  she  recov 
ered  sufficiently  to  ask  what  had  befallen  him ; 
and  when  he  told  her,  she  attributed  the  whole 
misfortune  to  his  own  awkwardness,  and  "  wa" 
gered,"  if  she  had  been  in  his  place,  the  story 
would  be  a  different  one. 

They  left  town  a  few  days  afterwards,  and  Mr. 
Lacy  was  the  .only  inhabitant  who  regretted  their 
ever  coming  there.  For  two  months  after  their 
departure,  he  broke  more  rods  on  boys  than  he 
had  in  as  many  years  before.  They  neglected 
their  books,  and  took  to  drawing  likenesses  of  Mr. 
Delblether  as  he  appeared  addressing  the  crowd 
in  the  forge  on  that  eventful  night,  and  as  he 
looked  flying  down  the  street  during  the  serenade. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ANNIE  AND  JAMES   HAPPY. 

|GAIN  our  tale  moves  on,  this  time  to 
the  end.  A  few  years  have  passed  by, 
and  Annie  yet  lives  with  the  good, 
kind  family  on  the  banks  of  the  Hud 
son.  Francis  is  in  good  employment  in  New 
York  City,  Patrick  Sweeny  and  his  small  family 
live  in  the  same  quiet  happiness,  and  Kitty 
Brady  is  married  to  the  young  man  who  put  such 
an  abrupt  end  to  the  Scotchman's  love  for  Annie. 

It  is  a  bright,  pleasant  Sunday  morning  in 
April,  with  a  gentle  breeze  waving  the  white  cur 
tains  on  the  raised  windows,  that  Kitty  and  hei 
husband  are  standing  together  in  the  neat  little 
room,  both  dressed  for  church.  Mrs.  Ryan,  for 
that  is  Kitty's  name  now,  has  been  to  the  win 
dow  half  a  dozen  times,  peeping  into  the  street 
below. 

"  I  wonder  what  can  be'keeping  her,"  she  says 
at  length.  "  I  thought  she'd  have  been  here  an 
hour  ago.'' 

Mr.  Ryan  looks  at  his  watch,  and  says  • 

"  They  have  twenty  minutes  yet." 


Annie  Reilly.  237 

"Oh!  but  think  of  the  journey  to  Barclay 
Street—" 

She  had  not  finished  the  sentence,  when  the 
door  was  pushed  open,  and  Annie  walked  into  the 
room. 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come,  my  Annie," 
said  Mrs.  Ryan,  kissing  her  fondly,  "  My  eyes 
are  tired  watching  for  you." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Annie,  giving  her  hand  to  Mr. 
Ryan,  "  I  couldn't  help  it,  Kitty.  The  train  was 
delayed  an  hour  this  morning." 

Notwithstanding  her  hurry  a  few  minutes  be 
fore,  Mrs.  Ryan  sat  down,  and  began  asking  the 
girl  numerous  questions  as  to  how  she  had  spent 
the  time  since  she  saw  her  last,  and  compliment 
her  on  how  well  and  handsome  she  looked,  till 
her  husband  said,  with  a  smile  : 

"  Ladies,  I  think  you  had  better  come  on  now. 
You  will  have  time  enough  for  the  like  of  that 
during  the  evening.'' 

The  three  then  hurried  out  and  into  a  car,  and 
in  a  short  time  reached  Barclay  Street,  where 
they  alighted,  and  entered  St.  Peter's  Church 
just  as  High  Mass  commenced.  The  church  was 
very  crowded,  but  two  gentlemen  resigned  their 
seats  to  Annie  and  Mrs.  Ryan,  one  of  whom 
moved  up  towards  the  altar,  and  the  other  knelt 
down  by  Ryan's' side  in  the  passage. 


238  Annie  Reilly. 

Had  Annie's  eyes  been  raised  as  the  latter  gen 
tleman  passed  by  her,  she  would  have  noticed  the 
surprised  look  with  which  he  regarded  her. 

The  music  of  the  grand  organ  filled  the  build 
ing,  and  mounted  up  heavenwards,  carrying  with 
it  the  homage  and  adoration  of  the  kneeling  mul 
titude  ;  and  Annie  bowed  her  head  low  in  earnest 
prayer,  and  was  soon  lost  to  every  thought  of 
earth.  The  gentleman  knelt  at  the  end  of  her 
seat,  and,  when  Ryan  happened  to  raise  his  eyes 
in  that  direction,  he  could  see  him  glance  at  the 
devout  girl  with  a  strange,  wild  look,  then  turn  his 
face  towards  the  altar,  and  pray  fervently.  Of 
this,  however,  Ryan  took  no  notice,  till,  during 
the  sermon,  he  could  not  help  remarking  the 
strange  manner  of  the  man,  who  seemed  to  be 
acting  in  a  way  which  he  himself  could  not 
control.  His  face  was  suffused  with  blushes. 
He  knew  the  people  near  by  could  not  avoid 
noticing  him,  but  still  he  looked  at  Annie  with 
a  restless  gaze,  his  lips  moving  as  if  to-  speak, 
and  his  feet  rubbing  the  floor  nervously.  It 
seemed  that,  if  she  turned  her  face  towards  him, 
he  would  lose  his  senses,  and  spring  to  her  side  at 
once.  But  Annie's  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  she 
was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  anxious,  agitated 
face  watching  her.  Was  one  of  those  gentle 
prayers  breathed  for  the  welfare  of  its  owner ? 


Annie  Reilly.  239 

We  know  Annie  was  not  unmindful  of  the  pro 
mise  she  made  that  evening  long  ago,  with  none 
but  the  moon  and  stars  for  her  witness. 

At  length,  the  ceremony  over,  the  people  be 
gan  to  leave  the  church.  The  greater  part  of 
the  congregation,  however,  had  departed,  and 
the  altar-lights  were  extinguished  when  Annie 
and  Mrs.  Ryan  rose  to  leave ;  the  gentleman 
stood  up  from  his  knees  at  the  same  moment, 
and,  if  Annie  felt  a  hand  gently,  very  gently 
touch  hers,  she  did  not  notice  it,  but  went  down 
the  aisle  with  her  two  companions,  followed  by 
the  stranger ;  they  were  about  to  descend  the 
steps,  when  a  voice  behind  her  said,  "  Annie ! " 
She  turned  around,  but  seeing  it  was  a  young  gen 
tleman  whom  she  did  not  know  that  addressed 
her,  and  thinking  he  mistook  her  for  some  other 
person,  turned  away  quickly,  and  had  reached  the 
sidewalk,  when  he  came  to  her  side,  and,  looking 
into  her  face,  said  mournfully  : 

"  Annie,  don't  you  know  me  ?  I  would  have 
known  you  at  the  end  of  fifty  years." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  A  strange,  un- 
explainable  feeling  came  over  her ;  tears  started 
to  her  eyes,  and  her  limbs  grew  weak.  James 
O'Rourke  came  into  her  mind,  probably  because 
the  thought  of  him  was  uppermost  there.  But, 
no  ;  the  richly-clad,  wealthy-looking  gentleman 


240  Annie  Re  illy. 

by  hex*  side  could  not  be  he.  Nonsense !  Poor 
James,  who  ran  away  from  her  that  night  on  the 
river's  bank  with  worn,  patched  clothes,  and 
barely  sufficient  to  bring  him  to  America  in  his 
pocket ! 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  a  low, 
broken  voice,  and  tried  to  move  on. 

But  he  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Oh  !  yes,  you  do,  Annie  ;  don't  say  you  forget 
your  own  James." 

Poor  Annie  fell  against  his  shoulder.  "  Oh  ! 
heavens,  James,  and  this  really  is  yourself,"  she 
murmured  through  her  tears. 

He  drew  her  closer  to  his  heart,  and  said,  "  Oh  ! 
yes,  yes,  Annie,  my  love,  it  is  I  at  last." 

"  O  James  !  how  I  have  watched  and  prayed 
for  this  meeting  these  long  years !"  sobbed  the 
girl. 

"  Not  more  earnestly,  at  -least,  than  I  have, 
Annie.  The  thought  of  you,  my  dearest,  has  not 
left  my  mind  an  hour,  day  or  night,  since  that 
misty  evening.  It  surely  was  the  good  God,  who 
has  watched  over  us  both  during  those  weary 
years,  sent  me  here  to-day.  I  knew  your  sweet 
face  the  moment  I  saw  you  in  church,  and  it 
nearly  drove  me  wild  that  I  could  not  make  my 
self  known  on  the  spot." 

"  Ah  !  little  I  thought,"  said  Annie,  "  when  my 


Annie  Reilly,  241 

mind  was  so  full  of  you  leaving  the  chapel — for  I 
can  never  look  on  a  crowd  of  people  but  some 
one  amongst  them  reminds  me  of  you — that  at 
that  moment  you  were  so  near." 

"  Now,  Annie,"  said  he,  "  all  our  misery  and 
anxiety  are  melted  away,  and  we  shall  not  run  the 
risk  of  their  returning  again  by  parting  any  more." 

Mr.  Ryan  and  his  wife  being  introduced,  James 
was  greatly  delighted  to  see  the  latter,  and  learn 
how  well  she  had  done. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you,  Annie,  how  you  have  got 
through  this  time  ;  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  see 
you  are  alive  and  well.  Oh !  what  dreadful 
misgivings  I  had  when  every  effort  to  find  you 
failed !  One"  time  I  thought  my  dear  Annie 
might  have  died  on  the  voyage  ;  and  again,  that, 
lone  and  friendless  in  America,  she  broke  her 
little  heart." 

Mr.  Ryan  invited  him  to  accompany  them  to 
his  house  for  the  evening.  James  readily  agreed, 
and,  hastily  telling  a  fellow-guest  at  a  hotel  near 
by,  who  had  accompanied  him  to  church,  that  he 
would  be  absent  for  the.  evening,  hailed  a  car 
riage,  and  they  were  soon  in  the  little,  airy  room, 
with  Mrs.  Ryan  bustling  here  and  there  prepar 
ing  dinner. 

What  a  change  had  come  over  Annie's  life  since 
she  left  that  little  room  in  the  morning  !  Then 


242  Annie  Reilly. 

^ 

she  was  not  very  unhappy,  but  the  painful  sense 
of  something  wanting,  which  distressed  her  so 
often  during  those  years,  was  now  banished 
Now  her  heart  was  full,  overflowing  with  joy, 
and  the  tears  which  the  "  little  lion  "  could  keep 
back  in  the  presence  of  misfortune  and  grief  fell 
freely  now  that  she  was  supremely  happy.  James 
had  been  a  good,  religious  man  she  could  tell 
during  his  long  absence,  from  her  sight.  No 
crime  or  vice  had  set  their  mark  on  his  counte 
nance.  It  was  as  bright,  genial,  and  intellectual 
as  when  she  gazed  on  it  unawares  as  he  played 
or  sang  for  her  on  the  green  hill-top.  His  up 
right  life  was  receiving  its  reward  even  here.  He 
was  on  the  high-road  to  fortune,  if  he  had  not 
already  reached  its  golden  gates.  His  employer, 
in  return  for  his  industry  and  ability,  had  made 
him  a  partner  with  himself.  And  what  shall  we 
say  of  his  happiness  now  ?  All  the  fears  that 
embittered  his  life  so  long  at  an  end ;  the  dream 
of  years  fulfilled  ;  Annie,  whose  shadow  he  traced 
in  the  twilight,  whose  smile  the  moonbeams  re 
flected,  was  now  by  his  side,  more  beautiful  than 
his  imagination  had  ever  painted  her,  never  to 
leave  him  again.  Yes,  Annie  and  James  were 
very,  very  happy  that  Sunday  evening  in  Kitty's 
little  parlor. 

By-and-by  Francis  called  to  see  his  sister,  and 


Annie  Reilly.  243 

the  meeting  between  the  two  schoolmates  was  very 
cordial.  Mr.  Sweeny  and  his  wife  and  daughter 
dropped  in  during  the  evening,  and  every  one 
felt  in  such  excellent  spirits  that  a  happier  little 
party  never  were  together.  Mr.  Sweeny  had  a 
joke  on  every  one.  Even  Annie  came  in  for  a 
share  of  his  humor.  He  told  James  of  her 
frightened  look  the  day  she  ran  away  from  the 
"  mansion,"  and  how  distressed  she  felt  at  the 
thought  of  being  idle.  James  laughed  heartily  at 
this,  and  Annie  blushed  very  red,  but  soon  re 
covered  sufficiently  to  detail,  in  a  very  arch  way, 
too,  the  annoyances  she  had  experienced  from 
the  Scotchman,  and  the  ill-luck  that  cavalier  met 
with  at  the  hands  of  Larry  Ryan. 

This  amused  James  beyond  measure,  and  he 
requested  Annie — just  as  if  she  were  gomg  to 
please  him  ! — to  show  how  she  looked  and  frowned 
when  the  Scotchman  offered  her  his  snuff-box. 

Thus  time  passed  till  midnight,  when  O'Rourke, 
who  told  Annie  to  be  watching  for  .him  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning,  went  down  to  his 
hotel,  and  the  little  party  broke  up. 

If  we  were  the  most  truthful  historian  in  the 
world,  we  would  not  risk  our  reputation  by  as 
serting  that  James  or  Annie  slept  a  wink  till 
morning.  The  former  was  waiting,  accompanied 
by  the  gentleman  whom  he  had  spoken  to  outside 


244  Anme  Reilly. 

the  church,  when  Mr.  Ryan  opened  the  door,  and 
Annie  was  more  than  two — no,  we  will  not  tell  it 
on  her  now — Annie  was  already  dressed,  and 
when  Francis  came,  and  all  the  others  who  had 
been  there  the  previous  night,  there  was  a  neat 
little  wedding-party  after  all. 

Little  Annie !  a  man  a  thousand  degrees  less 
noble  than  James  O'Rourke  might  have  gone 
wild  with  joy  at  leading  you  off  to  be  his  bride. 
You  blush  so  much  that  your  blue  eyes  sparkle 
the  more.  You  make  so  many  mistakes,  and  you 
are  so  forgetful  this  morning,  that  it  is  bewitch 
ing  to  see  your  little  puzzled  look.  In  short,  go 
on,  Annie  ;  everything  you  do  this  morning  makes 
you  look  the  prettier. 

Miss  Sweeny  is  a  very  handsome  bridesmaid, 
but  is  greatly  afraid  of  the  portly  groomsman, 
who  thinks  James  O'Rourke  one  of  the  luckiest 
men  in  America.  The  party  went  to  the  church 
early  in  the  day,  and,  the  important  ceremony 
being  performed,  the  happy  bride  and  groom  left 
the  city  that  evening  for  a  short  tour  through  the 
States.  When  they  returned,  James  purchased 
a  house  in  a  beautiful  part  of  New  York  City, 
from  which  himself  and  Mrs.  O'Rourke,  and 
quite  a  number  of  little  O'Rourkes,  may  be  seen 
driving  to  the  Central  Park  every  Sun-day  even 
ing. 


Annie  Reilly.  245 

And  now  we  will  turn  from  our  happy  hero  and 
heroine,  an'd  take  leave  of  those  other  valuable 
people  who  have  borne  us  company  through  our 
story.  John  G.  Ryan  being  the  most  illustrious, 
of  course  we  must  greet  him  first.  He  yet  con 
tinues  to  thrive  in  his  old  path,  and  his  bitterest 
enemy  could  not  wish  him  worse ;  for  there  is 
an  uplifted  Hand  sustained  by  Mercy,  but  which 
Justice  one  day  compels  to  fall  heavily  on  such 
as  he. 

Farrell  Reilly  and  his  wife  have  long  since  left 
the  castle  cottage,  and  are  now  living  contentedly 
with  Miles  O'Rourke,  in  a  neat  little  house  with 
ivy-covered  walls,  within  view  of  the  beautiful 
bay  of  Queenstown. 

Mr.  Lacy  teaches  school  yet,  but  has  grown 
somewhat  deaf,  which  renders  him  so  cross  that 
he  is  the  terror  of  all  the  boys  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  His-  evening  walks  are  less  freqi^nt  now, 
and  always  terminate  at  Nancy  Brady's  cabin. 
Nancy,  who,  to  use  her  own  words,  "  wants  for 
nothing,"  is  always  very  glad  to  see  him,  because 
their  chat  is  all  about  their  old  neighbors  whom 
both  loved  so  well. 

Miss  Sweeny  is  now  Mrs.  Somebody,  the 
mistress  of  a  handsome  rural  homestead.  Her 
father  and  mother  still  live  in  the  little  white  and 
green  dwelling,  happy  and  contented. 


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